Stranded in Eosia
by Diva Urd
Summary: Upon inspecting a weird light burning in a cave near the Vale, Belgarath and Polgara find themselves in a world unknown to them–the world of the Elenium and Tamuli! Their kind of magic does not work there... full synopsis inside! COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 01

Synopsis: Upon inspecting a weird light burning in a cave near the Vale, Belgarath and Polgara find themselves in a world unknown to them – the world of the Elenium/Tamuli! Their kind of magic does not work there, but when they find out that Evil is trying to destroy both this world and their own, they must act! 

Disclaimer: All characters and other names belong to David Eddings.

Personal Comment: This is my first try at a David Eddings fic. I have only written Star Trek and some X-Men so far, and although I have read both Belgariad/Malloreon and Elenium/Tamuli multiple times, it still might happen to me that the people are a little out of character. Please tell me if this occurs. If any of this story sounds familiar, know that I am trying not to copy anything (in fact, I only open the Eddings books for research into questions that I have as I go along, and I have not read a fanfic with this topic. Should there be one, be assured that I did not know about it). Please bear with me, and criticize in a constructive manner. Furthermore, know that English is not my first language, so it happens here and there that I am at a loss for words. If there are problems, please tell me, and I'll be more than happy to fix the problem.

CHAPTER 1

Damp darkness enclosed the two individuals as they made their way through the cavern. Their steps echoed from the basalt walls, and a steady dripping sound came from ahead. Then, a splash was to be heard, and one of the figures muttered a curse.

"This better be as serious as you said, Old Wolf."

The other figure answered: "Aldur himself sent us, Pol. I'd guess that makes it important. He contacted both of us last night, alarming us about some strange force gathering life energy from all living beings in the vicinity. He wouldn't have done so if it wasn't serious."

A sigh. "You're right, father. It's just that Durnik was planning for us to teach the twins to change their shapes this afternoon, and I hate to disappoint him."

They continued on their way through the grotto, and slowly but surely, a faint glimmer of light began to seep into the narrow passage. Ahead of them, the way seemed to broaden. A man with gray hair and a close-cropped beard stepped into the weak light, a woman whose dark hair enclosed a lock the color of pure snow at his side - Belgarath and his daughter Polgara, disciples of the God Aldur.

The sorcerer straightened his shoulders. "Well, then let's not disappoint him – we'll find out what is happening here, and if there is ample time left to fix it, we'll just go back and fix it tomorrow."

"You were always a master of procrastination, father – naturally, since you have literally all the time in the world to sort things out. I am still wondering how mother copes with you", Polgara replied amused.

Belgarath gave her a steady look. "Be nice, Pol."

They walked on and saw their path leading into a small chamber. The source of the light they had seen earlier was apparent now: A formless blob of greenish-yellow light blossomed on the wall opposite the hallway.

The sorcerers stepped closer, concentrating on the shining anomaly. "What is it, father?", Polgara asked as her father harrumphed angrily.

"I don't know," he replied, his face showing signs of frustration. "I have never encountered anything like it – and I can't tell how it does... what it does."

He willed a gnarled tree branch into his hand and carefully shoved it into the general direction of the wobbling light, which painted a wave pattern on the walls as the wood penetrated.

A minute later, Belgarath pulled the branch back and inspected its end. "I can't detect any difference."

He stared at the light, and suddenly stepped forward to thrust his forearm into it. When he pulled it back out, no change was visible.

"Father!", Polgara cried out and rushed to his side. "Are you alright?"

"I am, Pol, I am," he replied calmly and flexed his fingers. "At least as far as I can tell. I did not feel any sensation when I reached into it. No heat, nothing. And nothing happened to my arm while it was inside."

He looked at her. "The next logical step would be that one of us immerses himself completely into this thing, while the other one anchors him here in the cave."

"No, father, that goes too far! We don't know whether it is dangerous!"

A hint of steel entered Belgarath's voice. "Dangerous enough to make Aldur nervous - and we already know that we won't find anything out about it any other way. Now take my hand and stop fidgeting."

Polgara gave him a cold glare. "As you wish, father," she said as she extended her hand towards him.

The old sorcerer took it and slowly stepped into the light. A moment later, nothing but his arm remained outside of the light. His daughter held his hand; it calmed her that she did not feel a difference in his grip, no clamping down on her fingers that would indicate he was in pain or any other trouble.

Suddenly her father's arm jerked her forward. Polgara had barely time to register that his hand vanished in the glowing light before she herself got sucked in.

* * *

When Belgarath came to, he found himself lying beneath a group of trees. Polgara started stirring right next to him. A small river gurgled by somewhere behind them, and a road wound itself through the grassy hills in front of them. 

He frowned as he helped his daughter to sit up. She looked around and a similar frown wrinkled her smooth forehead as he voiced both their thoughts: "Where are we?"

Her father shrugged. "It doesn't look familiar. It could be Algaria, Arendia or a part of Sendaria..."

Polgara shook her head. "It doesn't...feel right, father. I think we should change shape and take a careful look around before we do anything. Maybe I'm wrong and we just travelled to Arendia or Algaria – but I don't think so."

Belgarath thought about this and nodded. "You might be right. Let's change."

He formed the familiar picture of the gray wolf in his mind – but when he tried to undergo the next step of flowing into the image, he did not feel the familiar sensation of melting. He tried once more, then he looked at his daughter in alarm. She stared back in a similar fashion, then she stretched out his hand, pointed it at some dead wood and ordered: "Fire!"

Nothing happened.

On the road, two riders galloped along. They were clad in armor, just like Mimbrate Arends, but their faces did not appear Arendish in the least, and their black overcoats bore unfamiliar heraldry.

Polgara looked at her father. "I think it is safe to say that we are very far from home, Old Wolf."


	2. Chapter 02

Okay, I felt like writing a little bit more after I uploaded the first chapter ;-) 

CHAPTER 2

A long distance away from the place where Belgarath and Polgara had landed, a cadaverous-looking man was watching them in his fire and gritting his teeth.

"Belgarath, Gods be cursed!"

The man could not believe that his enemy of old had found a way into his new realm. He watched them intently, and when their faces started showing signs of concern, an important aspect he had forgotten came back to him: They had no magic whatsoever in this world! The Will and the Word had no significance in this place, as it had not been made by the Gods his enemies were serving!

Grimly, the man thought back... It had been years upon years ago when they had invaded his city, trying to steal Cthrag Yaska, their Master's accursed Orb, from him... the terrible moment, when he had seen no other choice as to try and will the stone out of existence... and the consequences: He had felt as if his body was forced through a passage smaller than a common keyhole, he had been turned inside out for some agonizing moments, and then, after a dreadful period of utter nothingness around him... He had awakened in this world.

Stripped of his sorcery, he had been forced to eke out a living as a common beggar, until he had met a small group of Zemoch Styrics. They had told him about their God Azash, and although he did not recognize the name, the manners of the Zemoch God had been very familiar.

He had served as one of Azash's priests for some time, while the Zemochs had taught him their brand of sorcery, or "magic", as they called it. The man chuckled when he thought briefly about the fact that what passed for magic in his old realm had been so much weaker, so much more redundant than what he had learned here.

After Azash's Fall, when the Stranger called Anakha had defeated Him, the man had made sure to flee Zemoch and hide away from the roving bands of Church Knights. At one point, when he was searching for something edible (starting to weaken, as there was no God to infuse him with prolonged life), he stumbled upon a forgotten temple...

That was how he had found his current Master, a God stronger than Azash had been, than his Master Torak had been in the Old Realm.

His power had grown above all he had known back in Cthol Murgos, when he had been disciple to the Dragon God.

Ctuchik, formerly of Rak Cthol, stood up from his jewel-adorned chair in his tower, his thin lips twisted into an ugly grin. Without the Will and the Word, the two disciples of Aldur would be helpless, and he could crush them like flies! He decided that he would think up a most painful way to dispose of them, cherishing every moment...

Suddenly, the flames in his fireplace flared up in a dull green, and a deep voice growled at him:

"Ctuchik, do not engage in petty thoughts of revenge! Do not forget thy contract with me, lest I see myself forced to dispose of thee and find another vessel to do my bidding! It is the world I want – old scores of thine are of no importance to me. I shall allow thee to crush them once I see results!"

The Grolim bowed respectfully to his Master. "It shall be as you wish, Lord Zoltach."

The face vanished from the frozen flames, which turned their usual yellow-orange again. Ctuchik's vexation at the Elder God's command subsided when he thought about the implications of Zoltach's little speech. Yes, he would be able to see to the despised sorcerers' destruction later – after all, they couldn't run from him here... and if he managed to further the plans of his Master to his liking, he would be given the crown of the world, to force Zoltach's whims on all of his subjects...

Ctuchik's lips parted in a grin. He started to chuckle deep in his throat, the chuckle soon growing to a terrible laugh.

* * *

Well, Ctuchik is here – surprise surprise! So everything willed out of existence in the Belgariad/Malloreon-World shows up in the Elenium/Tamuli-World... Ah, the implications... 

Please review!


	3. Chapter 03

Okay, as I still am in a creative mood, I thought I'd write some more of my new baby ;-) 

BTW: Rating might change to PG-13 later, when I get to chapters with excessive violence (no smut in this story!).

05.07.2005: I am removing the answers to the reviews in every chapter from here on, because I heard that fanfiction dot net removes accounts of people who answer their reviews in chapters from now on. Since I do not want everything to be deleted, I figured I'd better comply, especially since they have already done their purpose... sorry about that.

Disclaimer: The Belgariad, Malloreon, Elenium and Tamuli are property of David and Leigh Eddings, and I use their worlds and characters for non-commercial purposes only.

CHAPTER 3

"I think it is safe to say that we are very far from home, Old Wolf."

Belgarath did not reply. He thought about everything he had seen and felt in the short period of their being here. Quite obviously, they would not be able to use their gift in this place. Now that he took time and concentrated, he could feel the world refusing to serve as an anchor and a source of power for his Will. It was as if...

He looked up and in his daughters eyes, which shone blue-gray with her irritation about their state.

"Pol, I think you might be even more right than you think. Tell me, can you feel Aldur's presence in our minds, as we usually do, even when he isn't around?"

She closed her eyes to turn her look inward. After a few seconds she opened them again, her eyes the color of a cloudy sky now.

"No, I can't. Father, what does that mean?"

He scratched his beard, deep in thought. "Say, Pol, do you remember our research in the fourth millenium? The one about the theory that there might be more than just one reality?"

Polgara nodded. "There were theories about reality being entirely subject to the point of view, and stories of other realms which were..."

She stopped, only to finish the sentence in a rush: "... created by other Gods than ours! The book that mentioned this theory was a rare one, because many priests had declared it to be heresy, as there could not possibly be other Gods than the ones we're familiar with... Do you really believe that this is another world, another realm with other Gods then Belar, Nedra, Chaldan, Issa, Mara, Eriond and UL?"

Belgarath nodded thoughtfully. "The evidence points in that direction, Pol. Us not being able to use the Will and the Word, everything feeling somehow 'wrong'... and what about those knights that passed by here just a few minutes ago? Those weren't Mimbrates, nor any other race or nationality we're familiar with – and we have been all over our world, we even know almost all of the Mallorean continent. It is the only explanation I can come up with at the moment, anyway. Questions are, why did the light in the cave send us here, why would anybody from this realm want to drain our world of energy, and most prominently, what are we going to do next? How do we stop the light, and how do we get home?"

Polgara thought about his elaborations and then replied: "Well, we won't get any answers sitting here and philosophizing about our problems. We should try to find a settlement. The next step would be to try and communicate with the people – I have not much hopes that they will speak our language, if this is indeed another world. After that, we will re-evaluate our options."

The two disciples of Aldur got up, and decided to proceed in the direction where their shadows lay on the ground – after all, they were unfamiliar with their surroundings, and as they could not change into the familiar shapes of wolf and snowy owl, they did not have the advantages of a sharp nose or exceptional vision on their side.

Thus, they wandered for a few hours. The rolling grassy hills, so much like those back in Algaria, were only interrupted here and there by little streams, small accumulations of trees, and roads which wound their way through the landscape like broad ribbons of packed dirt and gravel.

After a while, the sun had wandered quite a bit already, they found a small village, which looked rather primitive, and, sadly, was completely deserted.

Belgarath shook his head. "Even if this IS another world, the methods haven't changed. This looks like an Arendish serf village to me..."

His daughter raised an eyebrow. "Father, you shouldn't judge things before you know all about them – you of all people should know this simple rule by now. We do not know who those people were, who lived here; maybe they gave up this village and went to live in better conditions, and these houses are kept for history's sake. And even if they had been forced to live here, we don't know whether they were serfs or slaves, or whether there was another reason to reside in these conditions. Remember the Dals – they lived in mud huts, yet they were sophisticated beyond the other peoples' imagination. For all we know, that might be the case here, as well."

The old sorcerer raised his hands in mock defeat. "Alright, Pol, I give up! We don't know why those people preferred to live in serf- or maybe Nadrak-conditions, when obviously better accomodations are available, as those knights back there surely didn't live in a clay-made village – maybe they were just too lazy to build anything better, just like the Nadraks..."

A snort behind them got their attention. A boy had appeared behind them. He wore clothes made out of a rough, unbleached and undyed material. He held a curious-looking rack of pipes in his hands. A few sheep grazed nearby, and next to him sat a large dog, wagging his tail. The boy seemed to be amused by something – his initial noise had sounded much like an unsuccessful attempt to stifle a laugh, and now he stepped slowly toward them, a huge grin on his face.

Polgara knelt on the floor, so her face would be closer to his, when he had walked over to them far enough, and asked in a soft voice: "Hello, boy. What is your name?"

The boy's grin broadened. He opened his mouth to speak – and a number of incomprehensible syllables fell out of it.

Belgarath sighed. "As you suspected, Pol – he doesn't seem to speak our language. What now?"

She shrugged – for the moment, she didn't quite know what to do, either. She got up from her kneeling position – and suddenly looked down, when the boy came closer and tugged on the skirt of her dress. He spoke a few more words and pointed towards the West (at least they thought it was, for the sun would end their excursion across the sky there in a few more hours). Then he rubbed his tummy, obviously trying to explain something to them.

Belgarath's daughter nodded to the boy with a smile and then said: "I believe we just have been invited for dinner – and I believe it would be a good idea to follow the invitation. After all, we have no supplies, and the sun will go down soon."

He nodded and told the boy: "Lead the way", emphasizing the meaning of his words with a hand gesture.

* * *

This chapter brought to you by li'l Urdy, Franziskaner Wheat Beer (even in the US, you just have to know where to search ;-) ) and Sonata Arctica! 

Watch out for more (in fact, I might even write some more tonight, after dealing with my eMail...) and please review!


	4. Chapter 04

Well, I decided indeed to write some more of this story – I guess it just wants out ;-) Hope you guys like it so far! 

Current Music: Tommy February6 – J-Pop rocks, especially when it sounds like 80s Music! Waiiiii!

None of the characters, and none of the mentioned names (aside from Zoltach, and the yet unnamed boy) are mine, they're all David Eddings' Property!

CHAPTER 4

Dusk was starting to fall on the grassy land when the young shepherd led his sheep, his dog and his two guests into a village not unlike the deserted one they had stumbled upon earlier. He stopped in front of one of the decrepit-looking huts and motioned them inside.

Polgara and Belgarath entered the lopsided building. Inside, it only had one large room, as was customary in houses of that kind. A warming fire burned in the middle of the floor, its smoke vanishing through an opening in the roof. A man stood nearby, watching over the slowly roasting chunk of meat that was rotated continously above the dancing flames. Three sleeping mats and three blankets lay in one corner, and in another corner, a woman was milking a goat, steaming white fluid collecting in a wooden bucket below the animal's udder.

From the doorframe, where she had stopped walking, Polgara called: "Excuse me, do you understand, what I am saying?"

The results were interesting, although not quite what she had hoped for: Two pairs of eyes widened at her question, and the man started talking hastily to his wife (or at least so they presumed), before he left the hut. The woman calmly got up from her task, taking the bucket with her, and offered the two sorcerers a place to sit with a few gestures. After she had made sure that her guests were comfortable, she got up, fetched some simple plates out of a wooden box and began to cut pieces from the meat her husband had prepared. She did not utter a word while she did all this. The boy sat down on the floor and made some curious looking hand gestures while murmuring something in his language. After a while, he looked up and flashed a smile at them.

The woman handed Belgarath a plate, then Polgara, then the boy (who was most likely her son). After that, she pulled some stoneware-like goblets out of the same box and filled some of the goat's milk into them. After that was done, she cut off some meat for herself and the man and sat down.

The boy dug his teeth into the meat (it smelled like mutton to the sorcerers) greedily, sign of his hunger. Polgara smiled at her hostess, hoping that this would serve as thanks before they managed to communicate in other ways, and started eating as well, her father folowing suit. They had eaten for about five minutes, when the woman's husband re-entered their hut. He had brought somebody with him: A white-haired man of middle build, clad in the same clothes the boy and his parents wore. Silently, he sat down next to Belgarath, nodding friendly by way of greeting. He spoke a few syllables to the two other adults, who joined her son on the other side at the fire, then he faced the two sorcerers once more and, to their astonishment, began to speak in comprehensible words:

"Welcome, friends. It is rare that Elenes seek our hospitality, but we give it freely."

After he had fought down his initial disbelief, Belgarath put down the almost empty plate and answered: "We thank you and yours", he nodded to the family opposite them, "for your help when we were in need. But we are not who you think we are. In fact, I have never heard of these Elenes. We come from a place called Vale, which is bordering on countries called Algaria and Ulgoland. Most likely you have never heard of those..."

The man lifted a hand, biding him to stop; his forehead furrowed in a frown. "In fact, I have heard the names you mentioned before. Maybe it is appropriate that I tell you exactly where you are and who we are, before you voice your questions, as there will be many.

"We are a race called Styrics, of a group altogether referred to as Styricum. You are in a country known as Elenia, on the continent of Eosia. This will sound unfamiliar to you, as it is no place in the realm you are accustomed to."

Belgarath gave his daughter a little smirk – his assumptions had proven right!

"Styricum has been hunted down and tortured throughout history, as we do not call any country our own, and our religion and customs differ from those of all other cultures. Furthermore, our Gods bestowed us with the 'Secrets', abilities called magic and witchcraft by other folk – not an endearing trait to most people, either. We are called heretics and pagans by the clerical institutions of the countries we reside in. The only city that is fully Styric in structure and folk is Sarsos, on the Daresian continent – half a world away.

"And now, before you ask why I tell you this, know that I know about your story being true from other individuals coming to us for aid in much the same way you and the young lady", he nodded to Polgara, "did. My story was meant as an introduction for people new to our world. My name is Galtan, these are Nemea", he pointed at the woman, "Lugath, her husband, and their son Dorgatan. Tell me, how did you get sent into this world?"

Polgara cleared her throat and proceeded to tell him about who they were and which circumstances had led to their transport to Eosia.

Galtan nodded. "This is an odd story – It seems that somebody created a doorway between our two realms, out of a reason I cannot fathom. Know that we have met people before who have been transported from your world to ours - quite a number actually, about 50 by my last guess. The way of transportation differed from yours, though. They stated that they had made it to our realm by means of... accidentally or willingly obliterating themselves."

* * *

So much for now... will write more as I feel the writing bug biting me again ;-) Please give me a comment by means of this nice purple box in the lower left corner! 


	5. Chapter 05

Okay, it is past 10 pm, there's nothing on TV anymore, so BRING ON THE KEYBOARD 

Current Music: Oomph! – "Wahrheit oder Pflicht"

05.07.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for details.

Disclaimer: None of the characters and names, except Zoltach, Galtan, Nemea, Lugath, and Dorgatan are mine, they are intellectual property of David Eddings.

CHAPTER 5

It took a few minutes for Aldur's disciples to fully grasp the vastness of what Galtan just had disclosed to them; they even forgot to wonder about the fact that they could suddenly communicate with their host. Finally, Belgarath asked the Styric,

"Excuse me, Galtan, but could you specify what exactly those people told you when you first met them? I am curious about what exactly you mean by 'obliteration'."

Galtan shrugged. "Their accounts of what happened differ from person to person. Some have claimed that they have wished at some point that they be taken from the cruel world they lived in – and it happened. Others told us that they had wished a person or thing might simply vanish – and their wish turned on themselves and brought them here. Finally, very few actually claimed magic powers and told us that they had willingly tried to end their existence, but instead wound up in our midst."

Polgara nodded and replied: "That sounds by all means like the Will and the Word we are employing in our world. The first two groups seem to be people whose Will awakened within them without their realizing it. Our kind of sorcery expressively forbids us to unmake things – if we try, the universe turns against us and removes the wrongdoer himself. So, it doesn't matter whether the person tries to will himself or something or somebody else out of existence – the result stays the same."

Her father had been sitting between her and Galtan in silence since his last question, apparently deep in thought. Now Belgarath looked up.

"That would mean that the last group you mentioned would have to be sorcerers who knew what they were doing."

"It is possible," Galtan replied. "However, the powers they claimed were nonexistent when they tried to prove their story here. Since none of them – and you neither – seem to be lying, there must be another explanation. We suspect that, since this world is not governed by the Gods you serve, the ability to use the "Will", as you call it, just does not seem to be a part of the Laws the Gods have set up for the workings of this world. In return, the Styric secrets would not work in your realm, as none of the Younger or Elder Gods of Styricum hold power over it."

Belgarath nodded and asked: "Do you know of any such sorcerers in this vicinity?"

"Not many of them exist, and not all of them stayed with us," came the answer. "Some, however, have taken on Styric beliefs and live among us, protected and adored by our Gods. I believe that one of these people lives in one of our villages about ten leagues from here. His name eludes me at the moment; but if you consent to stay with us for the night, I shall give you horses and directions to his house."

The sorcerer shook his head. "We will take directions gladly – but we cannot take horses from you..." Seeing the questioning look in Galtan's eyes, he explained: "Your people don't seem to be blessed with riches, Galtan, and we would feel bad to take horses from you."

The reaction of the Styric surprised him: Galtan actually started laughing.

"Excuse me, Belgarath, but it seems you fell for the ruse of our appearance, and that of our village. It is true that we don't own a great deal, but we are not as poor as we might appear. This village is set up the way it is to soothe the attitudes of the Elenes around us. As I mentioned, most of them don't like us very much, but as long as we don't appear to be a threat, they largely leave us alone."

"Largely?" Polgara's left eyebrow rose in emphasis of the question.

Lugath's face showed anger when he decided to contribute to the conversation – in perfectly understandable language.

"Here and there, Elene peasants build up their superstitions to a point where they come and raid Styric villages. After all, we are only Heathens and Pagans in their eyes..."

"Lugath!" Galtan's voice lashed out at the man, who stopped his tirade immediately. Then, he turned towards Polgara, who seemed slightly taken aback by Lugath's elaborations.

"Excuse Lugath's rashness, Polgara, but old habits die hard. In fact, in the three years since Queen Ehlana and Prince Sparhawk have returned from Daresia, the militant orders of the Elene Church have spread word about what they would do to people who raided Styric villages. Their announcements have worked wondrously – there haven't been any raids for almost three years. The last groups who tried were made into an example by the knights – a quite gruesome example, I have heard. While I don't condone violence, I have to admit a slight amount of satisfaction about ignorance being set straight in this particular way.

"Anyway, now that you know our initial reasons for living in these conditions, know that we have not changed yet for the simple reason of being used to our village. Other Styric villages have not been so attached to their way of life – They live in better houses now. And Sarsos, the Styric City in Astel on the Daresian continent, is and has been a wonder of the modern world – All houses are sheathed in marble, the roads are broader and cleaner than in any Elene city, there are uncounted little parks and flower patches – it shows Styricum's true face. Furthermore, our small community is not poor; we have everything we need, and we don't strive for wealth. You can take our horses, I wouldn't have offered them, if we couldn't spare them."

Polgara broke into a smile. "Then we accept your offer with thanks, Galtan. I would like to meet these church knights – they seem to be sensible people."

Her smile was infectious; it spread to her father and Galtan, then it made its way to the opposite site of the fire and touched Nemea's and Dorgatan's lips. Finally, and with some timidity, even Lugath joined in.

"Excuse me, lady," he apologized. "I have spoken before I thought. Of course Galtan is right – since the Elene Church has stated explicitly that it wouldn't stand for cruelty in its name, and has made clear that it would force this policy, the attacks have stopped. Furthermore, our Gods have asked us to stop wallowing in endless self-pity – some Styrics were blaming people for things their ancestors did centuries ago – and forget about the past, so that we would be free of the collective bias a lot of us carried in their hearts. They were right – we are greeted with much more friendliness than before. Whether this is because of our change of heart or because the Church Knights promised to turn anybody inside-out who killed a Styric and did not do so in self-defense, I can't say."

Belgarath grinned at his daughter. "Those knights might not be Arends or Alorns – but their methods sound very familiar."

Galtan had gotten up while Lugath had spoken.

"You have to excuse me now, dear guests." He bowed in both their directions and then added: "It is late. You should go to bed now – it is a long way to the magician's house, you will have to ride most of tomorrow. I will wait with your horses ready in front of the house tomorrow morning. Good night."

And with these words, he departed.

* * *

There we go, Chapter 5 of the story is here! Might write another one tonight, don't know yet... 

Drop me a line if you liked it!


	6. Chapter 06

Hey, friends, it's me again! And yes, here's the sixth chapter of my baby – it astounds me to no end how fast I am writing this! 

Keep in mind though: I might not be able to crank out two chapters a night indefinitely!

Current Music: QNTAL – QNTAL II (Electrofolk – very cool!)

Disclaimer: You guessed it, none of it is mine, except characters invented by me (see list in last chapter)...

CHAPTER 6

Belgarath and Polgara had spent the night in the hut of Lugath and Nemea, and in the following morning, they stepped out of the lopsided house refreshed and alert. As promised, Galtan strode over to them when he saw them emerge, leading two roan horses by their reins.

"I bid you a good morning, friends," he greeted them, and both returned the greeting in a friendly manner.

Then Galtan led the horses forward. "These are Feliad and Dorim. May they serve you well. Please treat them with care, for they are very gentle mares – but if you need to, you will be able to gallop faster on them than on most other horses."

He handed a pair of reins to Belgarath, gave Polgara the other, and added: "I have thought about the matter of giving you directions and decided that it will be best to send a guide with you. Dorgatan will lead you – another boy can guard the sheep, and he knows the way. Aside from that, he is the best rider that we have."

Unnoticed, the boy had come out of the house after the two sorcerers had left. He grinned at them and promised with a strangely lilting accent: "We'll get there before sundown, I promise!"

Belgarath was about to protest the boy's escort, but then he kept his mouth shut. He didn't know these people, and Galtan seemed to have common sense – he would know what he was doing.

They waited patiently for Dorgatan to get his horse, and when he returned with it, a coal-black giant of a stallion, they mounted their mares and departed, waving their generous hosts good-bye as they cantered out of the Styric village.

They rode for the better part of the day without a break, young Dorgatan always up front. Galtan had been right: The boy rode as well as an Algar. He knew exactly when to give his stallion Zandail free reign and when to reign him in. The two roan mares always managed to match his speed, and their canter was so regular that the regular pains of riding were reduced to a minimum.

Two hours after midday, they decided to give their horses a few moments of rest. Dorgatan swung himself out of the saddle in one fluid move, rummaged through the saddlebags that hung on Zandail's back, and dug out a raw piece of mutton, wrapped in clean giant tree leafs, three bowls and enough wood to build a small fire. He placed the dry twigs and branches in front of Belgarath and Polgara, built a fixture to hold a spit over them, and grinned at his two charges. Then he held out his hand, murmured a few words in the incomprehensible, yet musical language of the Styrics, and drew some intricate little figures in the air with outstretched fingers. Finally, he pointed at the small stack of wood – and it burst into flame.

Polgara took the meat from Dorgatan when he asked her to prepare it, so he could run and fetch some water to drink from a nearby creek, found herself a young, green and straight branch for a spit, put the mutton on it and then began roasting it. While she turned the meat slowly to make sure that all sides roasted evenly, she looked at her father. "I think we have just witnessed one of the Styric secrets," she said to him. "I could feel it when he released the force behind it – it is very different from the Will. It felt as if he wasn't the only source of the power, but it didn't come from his surroundings..."

Belgarath nodded. "I felt the same thing. Furthermore, the correct spell in connection with the finger patterns seems to be of vital importance, whereas the Will only needs a picture in our heads and a command to release the force."

He grinned as a thought came to him. "You know, Polgara, you should learn those 'secrets' – after all, you never managed to stop wiggling your fingers while releasing your Will..."

All he got for an answer was an arched eyebrow and the words "I don't suppose I heard you correctly – you want to fast for today, father?" That settled the topic fairly quickly.

A few minutes later, the mutton was almost done, Dorgatan returned with the bowls brimming with clear, ice-cold water. He walked slowly so he wouldn't spill everything, and handed Belgarath and Polgara their bowls. Then he sat down in the grass next to the fire and flashed his customary grin. "How'd you like my little show from before?"

Belgarath smiled back at the boy; the young Styric was a lot like Garion and his ancestors, differing only in the fact that he seemed to enjoy his life enormously and liked to show it.

"Very impressive, Dorgatan. Do you know any other secrets?"

The boy's grin broadened even more, revealing a gap in his upper jaw where he had recently lost a tooth.

"Bunches!", he answered. "Wish I could show them all to you – but the Gods would get angry with me if I use the secrets too much just to impress people, and besides: We wanna reach the magician's house today, right?"

The old sorcerer laughed. "You're right, my boy. Let us eat and drink, and then ride on. Maybe you can show me some more secrets later."

Dorgatan nodded enthusiastically when Polgara cut the mutton into pieces and gave an equal slab of meat to all of them.

The sun was about to settle down for the night in the west, when the three riders reached the village in which the former sorcerer was supposed to live. They got off their horses and led them through the lines of houses (which indeed looked a lot better than the mud huts of Galtan's village) to the other end of the small community. There, Dorgatan turned to the right and marched on, toward a house which stood a little ways back from the main road. He fastened Zandail's reins to a beam in front of the homely-looking little half-timbered building, waited for Belgarath and Polgara to do the same, and then knocked on the door three times.

They could hear the shuffle of feet inside the hut, then the door was opened. Belgarath stared at the man who stood in the doorframe, who started talking to Dorgatan in Styric, but suddenly stopped when he caught sight of Aldur's first Disciple.

Belgarath was the first to break the silence; in a half-gasp, he uttered the man's name. "Belmakor!"

* * *

Yeah, I guess you were all guessing it... however, I liked the idea of having Belmakor in my story, so there ;-)

As usual: Comments appreciated!


	7. Chapter 07

Hello guys! You guessed it, it's update time! 

05.07.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for reason.

Current Music: Subway to Sally – "Engelskrieger"

Disclaimer: You know the drill, aside from the in Chapter 5 mentioned Characters, none of them are mine...

CHAPTER 7

The man in Styric garb recovered slowly. "Belgarath," we finally replied wearily. "So you have given up as well. Welcome in the afterlife – it is a little different, but you'll get used to it. Come in, old friend."

He stepped back inside the house, holding the door open for them as they followed him inside the building. There, he motioned them to have a seat and said: "You must be hungry. I have a vegetable stew boiling on the fire – let me go and get you some bowls." His gaze stayed on Dorgatan for a few seconds, as if he wanted to tell the boy something, but then he decided against it, turned around and left for the kitchen.

Polgara turned to her father the moment he had stepped out of the room and whispered: "Father, are you sure this is Belmakor?"

Belgarath nodded. "I have known him for a very long time, Pol. What I am wondering about is how he managed to survive here since he left us – after all, his Will doesn't have the power to keep him alive indefinitely in this world..."

She pondered about this for a moment, then she replied: "Did you listen to him out there? He thinks you have willed yourself out of existence, like he did."

Her father did not manage to answer, as Belmakor came back, a wooden tray with steaming bowls of stew in hand. They ate in silence. Then, when they had finished and the bowls had been brought back into the kitchen, Belmakor, uncharacteristically meek, began the conversation.

"So, tell me, Belgarath, is the fight against Torak still going on?"

"Belmakor," Aldur's first disciple began.

"Please, no," Belmakor interrupted. "I have left the service of Aldur centuries ago, my friend. I do not deserve to be addressed that way anymore. Just 'Makor' will suffice."

Belgarath arched an eyebrow. Centuries ago? But he let the matter slide for the moment and continued. "Makor, Torak has been defeated and replaced by a kinder God of Angarak. Much has happened since you have parted from us, and all is well in the world now. May I introduce my daughter Polgara to you?"

Polgara got up and curtsied in front of the aged Melcene. "Charmed."

Makor's expression of weariness dissipated, to be replaced with confusion; obviously, he had not expected the words of Belgarath to be that positive. "But why did you commit suicide, and why did you take your daughter with you?"

Belgarath sighed. This was going to take a while. "We did not obliterate ourselves, Belm..., well, Makor. I have heard that it seems to be the most obvious way of getting here, but our being here actually has a different background..."

He began to tell the former disciple what had happened in their realm since he had decided to end his life, frequently interrupted by Polgara, who felt she had to set her father straight on some accounts. When Belgarath finally arrived at Aldur summoning him and his daughter to the cave with the mysterious gate of fire that had led them to this world, dawn was sparkling on the horizon, and Dorgatan had fallen asleep on a sack of grain next to them and snored quietly.

Makor seemed puzzled when his story ended. "How much time has passed in your world?", he asked his former brother in spirit.

"More than three thousand years, Makor", Belgarath answered, wondering how the Melcene would react.

But Makor only shrugged. "That explains how so much could have happened, I guess. Time between the two realms seems to be highly malleable – I have met people who claim to have come from time periods years after my departure, but they have been here years before me. Up to now, I never thought about it much, though; I gathered that I couldn't go back anyway, so it didn't matter anyway. I lead a mostly quiet life now, and I am content with it. In the three centuries I have been here, I have adopted Styric customs and beliefs, and I feel much at home."

Polgara, who had listened to his elaborations quietly, spoke up now. "Makor, you told us you have been here for three hundred years. Pardon my curiosity, but how did you survive that long? After all, you have been stripped of our kind of sorcery, just like we were. Are there Styric secrets that prolong life that effectively?"

Their host shook his head. "There are various kinds of secrets, but none of the ones I know have this effect. Convey Aldur my apologies, Polgara, but I have made a contract with one of the Younger Gods of Styricum – I serve as his priest in the Council of Styricum. In return, he grants me a prolonged life. It would not have been necessary, as the Gods also make contracts with other people than priests, but," and he began to smile, "He is a good God and a very nice fellow on top of that. When he asked me, I just couldn't refuse... We have a very close relationship to our Gods, you must know. Some of them live among us, and Tariel is one of them. This village consists of his Followers, and we have prospered since he incarnated in a local child shortly after my arrival. When his father, his last High Priest, and his mother died in a fire when he was just five years old, I took on the priesthood and the responsibility to bring him up."

Belgarath arched an eyebrow. "A Child God?" Makor shook his head again. "Not quite. If the Younger Gods decide to spend an extended amount of time with their Believers – for all Styrics believe in all thousand Younger Gods, just their preferred deity differs from village to village – their usual way to step among them is by incarnating into a locally born child. They grow up normally, although they realize their godhood all the time. Mostly, they are recognized as Gods by being wise far beyond their years. They can opt to stop their aging process, or continue to age until they die to free themselves from their mortal shells - each mortal life spent adds a facet to their personality, or so I'm told. There are Child Gods among the Younger Gods, but Tariel is not one of them. He happens to be the God of carpenters."

Belgarath smiled. Trust the Melcene, who favored architecture as a high art, to find himself a God that watched over house builders and the likes! At that point Dorgatan opened his eyes and rubbed them sleepily. Without a morning greeting, he grinned at Makor. "Have you guys explained enough to each other yet? I know that you want to tell them desperately, so go ahead!"

Makor's exasperated sigh didn't fully sound like good-natured mockery. "Dorgatan here actually is a God as well – the Messenger-God of Styricum."

Belgarath turned to stare at the grinning boy. "But you said the Gods would be angry with you if you bragged too much with the secrets you knew..."

Dorgatan shrugged. "It wasn't a lie – although your friend here would most likely tell you that I don't object to lying all that much. The others would indeed be vexed if I put on a show to impress mortals." His grin came back. "The question is: Do I care?" That comment sent the three adults into gales of laughter.

When they had calmed down, Belgarath addressed Makor once more. "Say, is it possible for you to teach us the secrets of Styricum? We believe that we might yet be able to make our way back into our world, but we will need the means to find out about this gateway and close it, so it won't cause the trouble Aldur fears it might be causing later on."

Makor thought about his request for a while and then replied slowly: "I am not entirely sure, Belgarath. The secrets work differently than the Will and the Word. While a great amount of the power used derives from yourself, an equal amount and more is provided by our Gods. Without permission from a God, I will not be able to heed your request. Furthermore, you have to know that you become followers of my God – at least nominally – as you learn and use the secrets. As long as you do not see a conflict between this and your service to Aldur, I am sure we can arrange something."

Polgara and Belgarath exchanged a glance. That surely was something to worry about! They thought about it in silence, and finally Polgara voiced her thoughts.

"I think Aldur would understand, father. After all, he does not exist in this realm. It is not as though we took our affection away from him. We can nominally follow one of the Younger Gods until we find a way to get home..."

When Belgarath nodded reluctantly, Dorgatan piped up: "Throw in a prayer here and there, and we have ourselves a contract!"

"Dorgatan!" Polgara and Makor, who had uttered the exclamation, glared at the boyish God – his proposal bore no piety whatsoever.

"Aw, come on, Makor," Dorgatan continued, all business and seemingly oblivious to their thoughts. "I found them first – and who knows how long it will take them to find what they are searching for? I guarantee them prolonged life and help in finding a way back to their original time period in exchange for a little worship. I don't need a priest – grandfather Galtan is taking care of business in Sarsos – but my followers are few and far between, and I'd like to earn myself a bigger voice among the Gods by having some more people to pray to me for help."

"Promise we don't have to pray aloud?", Belgarath asked. "Father!", his daughter exclaimed indignantly.

"Pol, you said it yourself. Aldur is going to let this slide; after all, he isn't here. I know him well enough to know that he won't be mad at us – and Dorgatan has mentioned some very valid points."

She held his gaze for a few minutes, then she averted her view. "All right, father, but YOU will explain all this to Aldur..."

"So I will, Pol." Belgarath didn't sound disturbed in the slightest. Turning to Dorgatan, he asked: "So, how is it, my boy – no loud prayers, and you'll keep us alive and try to help us to return to our world and time when everything is said and done?"

"Deal!", the boy exclaimed, jumping with joy for a few seconds. Then he realized what he was doing and stopped to look sheepishly at Makor. "That wasn't very dignified, was it?"

Makor smiled. "No, Godling, it wasn't – but that is quite all right. Will you stay and help me with the initial lessons?"

Dorgatan nodded. "That is why I came here with them. Before we left my village, I told Galtan I wanted to stay with them for a while, as I already guessed that they would need the help of one of us sooner or later in their quest. I will stay here with them, until they know everything we can teach them within reasonable time."

Their host sighed. "Somehow I had feared you would say something like that... well, let us begin."

Four months passed. Belgarath and Polgara proved to be apt pupils to their former brother in spirit and the Younger God. They picked up gestures and spells with the ease that came with centuries upon centuries of learning and contemplation, and when they got into the more complicated secrets, they spent some time to pick up a lot of the Styric language and the alphabet, so they would be able to read about more applications of secrets.

Finally one day, Makor looked at his charges and told them: "We are at a point where we have to part, my friends. Tariel has asked me to travel to Sarsos, where I will be engaged in the yearly routine discussions of the Thousand. It will be about half a year before I return. But don't worry – you will not be without help. Dorgatan has hinted that he will stay with you on your quest. I wish you good luck."

Belgarath looked at him questioningly. "Will you come back to our world with us, should we happen upon a way to go back?"

Makor shook his head. "My home is here now, Belgarath. Tell Aldur that I have always cherished the time I spent as his disciple in my heart, but my responsibilities lie in this village and the city of Sarsos. Aside from that: Who knows whether I could cope with your world as it is now?"

"You might be right," Belgarath was forced to acknowledge. "One last question, my friend: Do you know where we might start our research into this problem?"

Their host thought about this for a moment, then he replied: "I would try with Thalesia. This firy gateway does not sound like the work of a Younger God, and as the Elene Church is not in personal contact with their God, you might want to try and find a way to talk to the Troll Gods. They have been refusing contact with the Younger Gods for a while now – maybe they are up to something."

"Thank you, old boy," Belgarath answered gratefully.

The following morning, three horses set out from the house of the High Priest of Tariel, galloping north...

* * *

Looooong chapter! Hope it makes up for the fact that today it's only gonna be one chapter... gotta get up early tomorrow, so I won't be able to continue my li'l typing session for as long as I usually do... 

But I hope that I did most of the explaining now, so we can slowly turn to the chapters where Belgarath and Polgara find out more about the phenomenon that brought them to Eosia, and where they finally meet some people from this world we already know and love... ;-)

Nevertheless, I hope that this chapter was not too dull! Drop me a line to let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 08

Here I am again, and look what I have for you... ;-) 

05.07.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See third chapter for reason.

Current music: System of a Down – "Toxicity"

CHAPTER 8

The little group, led by Dorgatan on his giant black stallion Zandail, cantered north for the better part of the day. Finally, exhaustion tugged at Belgarath and his daughter, so they opted for setting up shelter and calling it a day. Soon, a cooking fire crackled merrily in front of two canvas tents, and Polgara roasted a slab of meat while Belgarath, half-dazed with tiredness, sat next to her and stared into the flames. Dorgatan, however, was wide awake – after all, he had spent most of the night sleeping while they had been in a final conversation with their host Makor.

After they had eaten, the boyish God surprised them with a statement: "Tomorrow we're gonna turn west. I appreciate Makor's advice and think his knowledge of the Gods is commendable, but I have my reasons for not believing that this whole thing originated with the Troll Gods – not obvious enough, if you get my drift. The Troll Gods were never very good at concealing their schemes for long, and this would be rather atypical. Furthermore, there's bound to be dangers Styric secrets won't be able to avert if this really is originating with one God or the other – for they won't look at you thwarting whatever they're trying to accomplish with gathering energy in your world without doing anything. I know the perfect place to meet some friends who could be very helpful to our cause, especially since..."

"Since what?" Belgarath asked yawning.

"Well, since they hold their annual meeting next week. It would be the best time to arrange for a bigger traveling party."

"And what is so special about these people, if one may ask?" Polgara added a question of her own.

"One of them is the crown prince of Elenia, the interim preceptor of the Pandion Order of Church Knights and Anakha, the Man Without Destiny and Slayer of Gods, for starters."

Polgara chuckled a little bit at that. "Somehow we always seem to end up in the company of somebody who has killed at least one God, Old Wolf."

Belgarath's only comment on that was a grunt.

"And who are the other people you want to team us up with?"

Dorgatan opened his mouth, as if to continue his explanations, but then he seemed to reconsider. Finally, he said with a grin: "You will see when we get there. Just know that they're all pretty illustrious fellows."

"Have it your way, boy," Belgarath mumbled sourly.

A few hours later, night had finally claimed their part of the world, Belgarath lay in his tent and thought about things while he listened to the restrained, ladylike snore of Polgara in the tent next to his.

'She would never admit that she snores, even if I could prove it.' The thought amused him for some reason.

Dorgatan had promised to keep watch, as he wasn't particular tired, but when Belgarath had left the tent for nature's call, the boyish God was nowhere to be seen. The old sorcerer was guessing that he wasn't too far though – after all, he had no reason to lie to them about keeping watch and then sneak away.

He wondered why Aldur had chosen him and Polgara specifically for this mission. Why not Poledra, his wife? Why not the twins, one or both of them? Why did he not sent Durnik along with Polgara?

'Well, Durnik is easy... somebody has to watch over the twins', he mused. 'Poledra... I wonder... I know he could not have known what exactly was behind the gate; after all, this is not part of his realm. But did he know somehow that our magic might not work here? Maybe he saw himself unable to predict what would become of her. Yes, she has spent as much time as a human as she has as a wolf, but who knows what might have happened in the transition between the worlds... she might have reverted to her wolf-form, for all we know right now, and although I would have been able to talk to her – knowledge of the wolfish language is no magic, after all – it would have been impossible for her to learn the secrets or even talk to other people...'

After an hour of contemplation, he gave up on the question whether Aldur had had some deeper motives in sending him and Pol, of all the possible pairs he could have sent, and settled for the simpler theory that Aldur had most likely sent him and his daughter, because the God was used to them solving his problems when he called on them.

After he had reached this conclusion, he decided to step outside and take a breath of fresh air. He got to his feet and inhaled the slightly chilly night air deeply, stretching as he did so. Then, something caught his attention: In the small group of trees close to their tents, he could make out two glowing figures. They seemed to be conversing with each other, but he could not tell for sure; he was too far away to be certain.

Fighting with himself whether he should go closer and take a look, or whether he should go back to sleep, his curiosity won. He crept up to the first row of trees. There, he could see that he had been right: Two persons, one female, one male, glowing in a pale pastel light, perfect beauty displayed in their ageless faces, and they were talking to eath other.

"... I am not sure I can bully him into this, Dorgatan," the female blurted out, her voice soft as birdsong.

Belgarath lifted an eyebrow. THIS was Dorgatan?

"You have to anyway, if my theory proves true, dear sister," the incredibly handsome male who did not seem at all like the always-grinning boy they had come to know as Dorgatan answered sternly in a sonorous baritone.

"IF it proves to be true, Dorgatan," the female – a Goddess? – replied testily. "Our brothers and sisters are still not quite inclined to believe the things you say about the Elder Gods."

"Please, Aphrael!" Dorgatan's voice had a definite pleading ring to it now. "Even if I am wrong – what does it hurt to pursue the possibility? Nothing, right?"

Aphrael seemed to think about his proposal for a minute, then she sighed in mock anger, unable to fully conceal a smile that crept up on her face. "All right, Dorgatan – as you have always been one of my favorite siblings, and as we have had some rather interesting adventures in the past, I'll see what I can do – for old time's sake."

She flashed him a display of pearly-white teeth in a sudden grin. "And who knows – it might just be a lot of fun! I don't think they will object too much; after all, they all adore me!"

And with these words, she vanished.

Belgarath grinned as he made his way back to his tent, trying to be back inside before Dorgatan caught a glimpse of him. These Younger Gods sure were an interesting bunch, whatever they had talked about back there.

* * *

There you go – a new chapter! Will try to finish another one before they shut down the servers for maintenance...

Please review!


	9. Chapter 09

And here Chapter No. 9 (No, it has nothing to do with Love Potion No. 9 ;-) ) 

And as I have forgotten the disclaimer again, I guess I'll mention it again...

DISCLAIMER: All characters and places mentioned (with the exception of characters invented by me, listed in the beginning of chapter 5) are property of David Eddings. I do not use his intellectual property commercially and never intend to.

Current Music: t.a.T.u – 200 po Vstrechnoy (The original Russian Version!)

Here we go!

CHAPTER 9

It took them exactly eight days to reach Cimmura, the capital of Elenia, which Dorgatan had named as the new end of this part of their voyage. When they had found an inn within the city walls, they dismounted, handed the reins Feliad, Dorim and Zandail over to a capable-looking groom in the stables next to it, and entered the solid stone building. They sat down at a table in the back, and Dorgatan handed Polgara a small purse under the table.

"It would look a little curious if I paid for the three of us," he explained to her as he saw the question in her eyes. "Order something to eat for all of us, and when the maid comes back with the food, ask her to bring the owner of this inn. Tell him that we want two rooms, a hot bath for each of us and have him send for a tailor. We have been given a private audience with the people I have been telling you about tomorrow morning."

Polgara arched her eyebrow. "When has this audience been granted to us? We just arrived here."

"Trust me!" The boy looked at her with a mock look of pleading in his face, and she laughed.

"Okay, I'll trust you, Dorgatan – after all, you have been looking after us pretty well, so far." The look on Dorgatan's face changed to one of immense self-satisfaction.

* * *

The following day, they got up, dressed and immediately set out for the palace. The inn's owner had provided everything they had asked for; they had slept well, were clean of the road's dust one always seemed to collect during travelling, and were donning new, clean clothes. Polgara had settled for an unusual choice: Instead of her customary dress, she wore tight- fitting black trousers made of a sturdy yet finely-woven cloth, and a wide shirt in her favorite color, a deep royal blue. At her father's confused glance, she explained: "We are most likely going to travel for quite a while, and although I am used to riding in dresses, I have never been overly fond of it. And as I don't have to satisfy appearances with these people due to my reputation as 'Polgara the Sorceress', for they will have never heard of me, I can afford a change of wardrobe for reasons of comfort. I had the tailor also sew up two dresses for me, but they won't be ready until this afternoon."

"Whatever suits you, Polgara," Belgarath answered noncommitically.

"Are you saying I don't look good in this?", she accused.

"I would never say anything like that! You look beautiful as usual, Pol," he quickly amended.

"Why, thank you father!" The look on her face softened, and the color of her eyes slowly changed to a deep lavender.

Belgarath couldn't help but sigh – quietly of course, lest his daughter interpreted the utterance in a wrong way. Women!

When they reached the palace, they were in for a surprise. Dorgatan's stallion strode right past the gate watchmen, who kept staring ahead without any reaction whatsoever to the trespassing. When the boyish God had realized that Belgarath and Polgara had stopped in front of the gate, staring at the two guards, he called out to them.

"Relax – this is hard if you actually want to be seen. Come on, through the gate. Everything is alright!"

Belgarath heard in astonishment that, while Dorgatan uttered these words, he simultaneously cited a spell, while his fingers flicked around in front of him. He swore under his breath and forced himself to relax when he followed Zandail and his master through the stone doorway. Polgara, obviously facing the same problems he had with relaxation, followed suit, muttering softly to herself. If they had been granted an audience, why in Aldur's name were they sneaking by the guards like some common thiefs?

In the court, Dorgatan jumped off his horse and told them to do the same. "Just tie them to one of the wooden beams over there," he said, pointing. "When somebody looks at them, they will remember having seen them before, and won't think about them any further. Let us go in."

They walked through long, wide corridors, climbed stairs and encountered the palace's personnel quite frequently, but the various chambermaids and servants paid as little attention to them as the guards had. However, Belgarath and Polgara had severe problems to refrain from cringing whenever somebody passed them, which earned them a few angry stares from their Styric patron God.

Finally, they arrived in front of a wooden door with complicated carvings and gold plating on it. "Here we are," Dorgatan announced, and ceased his incantation.

"Where exactly have you brought us, boy?", Belgarath asked, a hint of anger in his voice. "This is not a throne room behind this door! What kind of audience have you arranged for us, that required us sneaking in here? What..."

"Ssshhh!" The Younger God held a finger to his lips and motioned them to listen to what was happening beyond that richly decorated door.

"... So, Aphrael, will you tell us now why you wanted us all in your private rooms, without your mother?" The sonorous bass of a man, expressing part curiosity, part exasperation.

"You'll see, Sparhawk. They will be here any moment!"

"WHO will be here any moment?"

A giggle was the only answer.

At that point, Dorgatan grabbed the door handle and pushed it open. Inside the room, amidst various toys, stood five tall men, one of them clad in Styric garb, and a dark-haired woman around a chair that bore a lovely-looking girl of about 11 years. She pointed a slim finger at the group in the doorframe. "Them!"

Then she slid off the chair and stepped forward. "Welcome, Dorgatan. I hope the trip wasn't too hard?"

* * *

There we go – bring on the friends ;-) For those of you who can count: Yes, I decided to have all the knights after all. And of course our favorite (half-)Styric couple! There are others too, they just aren't in this room... 

Please drop me a line with the lovely purple box down there in the corner!


	10. Chapter 10

Hello! 

And on we go...

05.07.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for details.

Current Music: hide – Best Psychommunity (Too bad the man died – kinda kills the chance for an X-Japan-Revival...)

Disclaimer: None of them are mine. Well, maybe a few (see list chapter 5)... but all the others are property of Mr. and Mrs. Eddings.

And a little warning: I might "take off" some days to collect my thoughts again... I started into this without anything even resembling a plan of action (although I have the general idea of what is going to happen laid out in that sick brain of mine), and I would like to verify some things and think about some others, so I can make the next chapters even better (especially since we are starting to get into the interesting phase, after all this setting up!). Don't worry, I won't be able to let this thing lie for more than a week ;-)

Okay, now on to the next chapter!

CHAPTER 10

Aphrael flashed one of her special pearly-toothed smiles at Dorgatan, when he came through the door, his charges following him. A long time ago, she had had something of a crush on him, when he had been tall, lean and handsome, not in the mortal form he was stuck in now. That had stopped after a few decades, thankfully, and by now she had a far more interesting love interest...

She had finally revealed her secret of her newest incarnation as the daughter of the royal couple of Elenia to the other knights, as she felt that it would make things a lot easier for her. She had an idea that this quest of Dorgatan's friends might take a while to accomplish, and she did not want to figure out lie after elaborate lie, when she had to rest on their trip to be Princess Danae for her mother, Queen Ehlana.

The messenger God answered her question whether they had had a hard trip with a smile of his own, and then inclined his head to greet the other people in the room.

"Prince Sparhawk... Sir Tynian... Sir Ulath... Preceptor Bevier... Vanion..."

After he had greeted the men this way, he strolled over to the small, darkhaired woman, grasped both her hands, turned the palms upward and kissed them reverently.

"And of course, the lovely Sephrenia, High Priestess of Aphrael. So nice of you to make some time to meet with us – after all, the annual meeting of the Thousand is not far off."

She smiled at the boyish God. "Aphrael asked me to let the annual meeting slide – I believe she used the words 'Let those old men bicker out among themselves whether there should be a tax break for priests in the next year, they don't reach a conclusion anyway.' And although nobody in Styricum pays taxes anyway, she made her point quite clear. I already sensed that this was not going to be just one of her whims when we traveled here – and it seems I have been right."

Vanion, the former preceptor of the Pandion Order and husband of Sephrenia, cast a sharp look at Dorgatan, but did not say anything. It seemed he knew what was going on with the boy.

Bevier, however, as well as most of the other knights, were not quite so fortunate as to know that the scrawny Styric boy in front of them was actually a God, and their conversation proved that they had not thought about this possibility yet.

"How did he know...?", the just recently appointed young preceptor of the Cyrinic Order of Arcium asked his comrades-in-arms. Tynian and Ulath shrugged. Clearly they didn't know, either. Sparhawk, however, who studied the boy's face intently, as if he could find something there that might confirm his speculations. When he finally looked at Sephrenia, the question in his eyes apparent, the Styric woman decided to speak up.

"Dorgatan is the Styric God of messengers, Sparhawk. This is his newest incarnation."

The tall man with the crooked nose sighed. "I had feared something like that. Somehow, I didn't dare to hope that my little encounter with Cyrgon was the last of this whole 'Anakha'-Thing."

Belgarath and Polgara exchanged a look. This somehow sounded familiar...

Dorgatan, who had not said anymore since his initial greeting, now stepped into the middle of the room; the looked slightly vexed as he stopped the idle conversations that had started at their arrival.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please. If you stop talking right now and listen to my explanations, we can all properly introduce ourselves to each other and I can explain the situation to you."

He waited, until the murmurs had calmed down, then he continued by pointing at the two disciples of Aldur, who had waited close to the door for the situation to become manageable again. "These are Belgarath and Polgara. They are – and I hope you will accept this term for now – from another world than this one. While they were inspecting a mysterious light in a cave not far from their home, at the request of their God, they were sucked inside and found themselves here. This light, they say, is draining great amounts of energy from its surroundings. I believe this energy is channeled to a place here in our world – it would be consistent with the fact that some Gods have kept to themselves a lot in the past years... To make it short, I have the distinct feeling that both our worlds might be in great peril – and I had Aphrael arrange for this meeting, because you, ladies and gentlemen, have been the champions of this realm twice already. We will discuss any further question after I have formally introduced all of you to each other."

He started by naming the two sorcerers from the Vale first, and introduced: "These are, as I already told you, Belgarath and Polgara, both disciples of the God Aldur, who rules with six other Gods over the realm they call home. Back there, they are powerful sorcerers, more powerful, in fact, than most users of magic I have encountered here, from what I gather. Their sorcery does not function here, however. They both have lived for thousands of years, serving their Gods in guiding the people of their realm."

He continued with Sephrenia, emphasizing the fact once again that she was Aphrael's High Priestess and had been the Pandion's Styric teacher of the secrets for centuries, then went on to Tynian, Alcione Knight and accomplished Necromancer (Tynian blushed a little at this point), Ulath, of the Genidian Order in Thalesia, well-versed in the language of the Trolls and with his battle axe, Bevier, whom the Patriarchs of the Elene Church in Chyrellos recently had voted to be the new preceptor of the Cyrinic Order, after three years of interim preceptors and against a number of older knights, for they felt he had the purest faith of all the candidates. He left out Sparhawk, for some reason, mentioning Vanion, the man who had won the heart of a Styric woman, against all odds and all naysayers and former preceptor of the Pandion knights, and then he turned to the prince.

Sparhawk visibly winced when Dorgatan intonated: "And this is Crown Prince Sparhawk of Elenia, interim preceptor of the Pandion knights, Anakha, The Man Without Destiny, He Who Slew Monstrous Azash and Warmongering Cyrgon."

"Are you quite done yet?", the tall man grumbled.

"Indeed, Your Highness, I am," Dorgatan said, sounding dignified and bowing in front of him, his smirk the only indication of mockery.

Sparhawk buried his face in his palms.

"So," Sephrenia asked, "how exactly can we be of help? Are there any hints yet who might be responsible for this gate phenomenon?"

Dorgatan's young face showed dismay. "Yes, we do have hints – not many, but we do. There is a number of Gods who are rather unresponsive lately – namely, the Troll Gods and the Elder Gods. The Trolls have not been out of line in the last couple of years though – or have they, Ulath?"

The Genidian Knight shook his head. "Not that I have heard of. Of course, accidents still happen – but in general, they stick to the agreement we made with the Troll Gods."

Aphrael's beautiful face was grim. "That leaves the Elder Gods – again. One would think that after Azash's demise, some of the more whimsical ones would have gotten the message..."

The Messenger God's face showed an equal expression, as he asked: "But which one of them is behind it? Why is he doing it? And, most importantly, how do we find him, or the people who are supporting him?"

"I might have an idea there, Dorgatan!" The Child Goddess suddenly smiled. "The flow of energy out of these people's world," she nodded pleasantly to Belgarath and Polgara, "is rather extensive, as far as I understood your explanation. Obviously, it must have been concealed for us to miss what is going on. Now, as we don't seem to be able to feel this energy flow separately, it might be possible to join forces – maybe the two of us together will be able to tell just where all this energy is directed to. I would guess that there, we will find our culprit, or one of his handimen."

* * *

Okay, that is it for tonight. This chapter took me quite some time, as I didn't quite know how to realize the encounter of these groups without screwing up any original character concepts... however, I already have some ideas for the next chapter, it will involve more personal interaction between the two groups, promise promise!

Just give me a few days to gather my thoughts... will be back with you next week!

Oh, and please review – thank you!


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, friends, after a week of research, I am back with something new to read for you! I have spent the last week by speed-reading through the Elenium again, jotting down notes in the process. Not only did I come up with a lot more of my storyline (which, honestly, had deserted me a little when I announced my break last week), I also brought back some new story ideas, which I might put into action either after this fic is done, or somewhere in between for relief from this epic-to-be (most of the ideas would be one- shots or at most 5 chapters). Not all of them involve Eddings' work, but a few of them. Furthermore, I went through list of themes to write about, checking out which of them I could possibly contribute to. I think I'll end up writing quite a bit here ;-) 

Now, it might go on slowly for another week or so, because I plan to speed through the Tamuli as well, just so I am sure that I am not missing any important information. But after that, I might just pick up my 2-chaps-a- day-routine again g

05.07.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for reasons. 

Current Music: Nightwish – No Album in particular, just a mix of their first three albums... still just beautiful! Can't wait for their concert in August!

CHAPTER 11

"Hold on for a minute," Prince Sparhawk interrupted Aphrael's musings. "Before you and your friend make plans for our voyage, first you might want to come up with an excuse for Archprelate Dolmant and your mother, because I don't think they will accept the story Dorgatan has just told us. I don't even know yet whether I can accept the concept of a world where they breathe the same air we do, talk like we do and do magic like we do."

The Child Goddess gave it some thought and then reluctantly agreed. "You are right, Sparhawk. First of all, we should make up a story about their background. Then we have to find a reason to go with them when they leave Cimmura."

Ulath scratched his temple with one of his giant hands. "We could say that Stragen and Melidere sent them from Thalesia. They could be thieves working for them."

Stragen and Melidere were married by now, and managing the underside of Emsat, the capital of Thalesia, in a joint effort. Platime often made the Queen laugh with the accounts of their outrageous exploits.

Dorgatan nodded. "Good idea. It has just one little fault: Belgarath and Polgara are unarmed right now. We should change that to make them look their role."

Polgara looked at the boy who had consented to be their Patron God for the time of their stay in this world, slightly surprised. "But wouldn't most weapons be made of steel? I thought we weren't supposed to touch it while under your patronage."

The Styric God shook his head. "I agreed to watch over you in exchange for worship – there's nothing in our contract that says you have to turn Styric. While I don't particularly enjoy the stench of steel and refuse to eat pork, you do not have to do the same. And I believe it is a good idea to arm you, because while you have picked up more magic than the average Church Knight, it will not be enough to ward off all enemies. Who knows when you might get into a situation where our travel companions won't be there, and you have to defend yourself?"

"Then it's settled," Aphrael declared. "Ulath, please guide them to the armory and help them pick out a weapon, while we think up how to explain our search for the source of the draining to Sarathi and Mother."

The Genidian Knight nodded wordlessly and motioned the two disciples of Aldur to follow him out of the room.

Belgarath and Polgara had followed the tall Thalesian through a few hallways and had climbed or descended flights of stairs for some minutes until they arrived at a thick wooden door. There had been no conversation on their way there – Ulath did not seem a man of many words.

The Genidian opened the door and motioned them to come inside. The room was filled with dozens of rapiers, short and long swords, light and heavy daggers, shields, lances and armor of various colors and builds.

"Do you have any proficiency with a particular type of weapon, friend Belgarath?", he asked the old sorcerer.

"A simple one-handed sword will do nicely, Sir Ulath," Belgarath replied with a smile. "It has been a while since I last practiced, but I figure it will be the easiest weapon to deal with for me."

He strode over to the wall where a collection of swords was displayed and swung some of them to determine which one would be the best blade to wield for him. Ulath nodded approvingly and turned to Polgara. "And a light dagger for the lady...?" he began, but stopped talking when he saw that the beautiful woman with the incandescent white lock in her dark hair had already helped herself; she had chosen a set of four heavy daggers with rows of long vicious-looking hooks halfway up the blade. She had fastened two of the hilts to her lower legs, and two of them hung on a belt around her waist. Polgara held two of the polished, double-bladed knives in her hands, testing their sharpness with her fingers.

Ulath walked up to her, starting to say: "Do you think those blades are manageable for a..." He didn't get to finish his sentence, however, because one of the blades Polgara had just looked at idly suddenly was at his throat, and the other one's point hovered an inch away from his stomach. She grinned up at him. "Let us just say that I've had my share of practice with blades like these, Sir Ulath."

Belgarath, who hadn't missed his daughter's little demonstration of her skills with the daggers, laughed and stepped over to them. The sword he had chosen dangled in an elegant hilt at his side. "Pol, I just knew that deep down in your heart, you always have been a Nadrak woman."

Polgara let her two blades slide back into the hilts at her belt in one fluid movement. "I've lived among them long enough to pick up the finer points of dagger fighting – and what can I say? Those women just know how to train their men!"

"Poor Durnik," was all Belgarath had to say to that.

But Ulath, obviously greatly interested, inquired: "Are all the women in this Nadrak country as proficient with the daggers as you are, Lady Polgara?"

"Some of them even more so, Sir Ulath," the sorceress answered. "Nadrak women grow up learning to fight with them – for they will need it later to fend off men until they consent to be the property of one."

"Nadrak women are property?" Ulath seemed to warm up to the topic.

"Yes, but on their terms, Sir Ulath. They can not be bought or sold without their agreeing to it, and they get half their price to keep for themselves. Furthermore, owning a Nadrak woman does not bestow any rights on their owner – if he puts his fingers on the woman without her consent, she will not hesitate to use the daggers on him, as well."

Ulath's eyes widened. "Nadrak men seem to lead a dangerous life," he concluded.

"Yes," Belgarath agreed, "but most of them seem to think it is worth it. The dance of the Nadrak women is legendary in our world, and it is said that their prowess extends to other areas as well."

"I hope you did not make this experience first hand, Old Wolf," Polgara teased. "Mother might not like to hear about it."

Belgarath chose to ignore that comment. "We should return to the others," he said to Ulath. "Maybe they have come up with a plausible explanation for our quest yet, and we can start further preparations for the journey."

* * *

Okay, that's it for Chapter 11. I hope you like it – it's hard getting into writing again after having been away from it for a week... but I'll manage ;-) 

Might try to write another right now... after that, it might be a few more days' break until I am through the Tamuli. Please drop me a line!


	12. Chapter 12

And here we go once more – Chapter 12 coming up right away! As I already said: Expect me to take off another week or so to read through the Tamuli, then I'll be writing more often again! 

Current Music: Still Nightwish!

CHAPTER 12

It had been a busy time for Ctuchik. His master and God had decided to focus his attention on the death of the one person who would be most likely to cross his plans. It had taken Ctuchik's messengers a while to find a suitable person to carry out this particular assignment. It had to be an individual who knew his way around the court of Cimmura. First, Ctuchik had wanted to dominate the person in the usual way, but he found that their man was suitably corrupt to do what he was told to do without any outside guidance. A small amount of gold had been sufficient to make him do their bidding.

"Sparhawk", the cadaverous Grolim crowed in delight, having just received the news that everything was in place, "I hope you enjoyed the dawn this morning – it will be your last!"

Once Anakha, the Man Without Destiny, was dead, Zoltach would not have to fear any interference in his plans – and both their plans of vengeance would finally come true...

* * *

Queen Ehlana of Elenia looked out of the window, the Atana Mirtai at her side. It had been a few minutes since Danae had suddenly decided that her father and all his friends had to join her in her room, because she wanted to show them Mmrr's newest trick. The young, pale blonde woman smiled when she thought of the wondrous things Danae had been able to teach the young cat so far. She would have to ask her for a demonstration later... 

Mirtai, seemingly not realizing that the queen was only listening with one ear, had been talking in her familiar musical Tamul accent to her since the others had left the throne room, telling her about her happy marriage to Domi Kring, whose Peloi camped just outside the city, and about their son Tassal, who, even at his two years, seemed to be an accomplished rider.

The Peloi had been the ones to escort Sephrenia and Vanion to Cimmura – a big surprise for Sparhawk, who knew that it would be quite a journey from Sarsos for his friends to join them at their annual reunions.

"Ehlana? Are you listening?" Obviously, Mirtai had noticed her vacant look. The queen gave her friend and former servant an apologetic look. "I am sorry, Mirtai – I just got lost in thought. Will you bring Tassal along with you tomorrow?"

"Of course – he is very eager to meet you all!" Mirtai, who had mothered her for a couple of years – her and everybody else in her immediate vicinity, in fact – seemed to enjoy her own motherhood enormously. "He is already practicing with his short sword – I believe he will make a fine Atan and Domi once he is all grown up."

Ehlana had to smile. The warriors of Atana were legendary fighters – there were few things who could risk a serious fight with them. Of course Mirtai's son was starting early to practice with his weapons – it was in their blood to fight, and Mirtai as well as Kring were most likely encouraging the boy in his efforts.

She turned to the Atana to reply to her when suddenly, the throne on which her husband usually sat at this time exploded with a loud noise into a multitude of wooden splinters. Mirtai threw her down to the floor as fast as she could to guard her from the pointed pieces of wood flying in their direction, but she could not fully keep them away from Ehlana. The Queen felt sharp pains in her back and her legs where the wood struck her, and then a larger piece sharply banged against her head, rendering her unconscious.

The Atana had not been struck as hard as Ehlana, as she had been standing further away from the source of the explosion; she was bleeding from a multitude of small wounds, and large bruises on her arms marked the spots where larger pieces of the totally demolished throne had hit her.

She ran over to the door and tore it open, finding a surprised guard standing in front of it. Obviously, the man had not known how to respond to the unexpected noise in the throne room.

"Get Sparhawk, quickly!", she barked at the man, who nodded quickly and ran off. Then she went back to the limp form of Ehlana. Hopefully, her injuries had not been grave...

* * *

In Danae's room, Sephrenia sharply turned her head to Sparhawk. "Something just happened," she announced in an urgent tone. "A kind of magic has been invoked here – and it wasn't friendly magic." 

Everybody, including Belgarath and Polgara, who had just returned from the armory with Ulath, turned to look at her for further explanation. But Sephrenia did not have to elaborate any further; at that moment, the door flew open, and a man of the Royal Guard stood there, panting to catch his breath.

"Sir, something happened in the throne room – your wife..."

Sparhawk uttered a rather vile curse and hurried out of the door, the others just behind him.

When the knights and their friends entered the large hall in which Sparhawk and Sephrenia normally addressed government matters, the first thing to catch their eye was the mess of wooden splinters all over the floor; the second was the blackened ruin of what had once been Sparhawk's throne. Mirtai knelt at Ehlana's side; the queen seemed conscious, and none of her various wounds seemed to be grave.

While the prince consort rushed over to his wife to ensure that she was, in fact, going to be fine, Danae/Aphrael joining him instantly, Sephrenia stepped up to the remainder of the wooden throne with Dorgatan, Belgarath and Polgara at her side. She sniffed the air, bowing down to pick up some of the splinters and looking at them carefully.

The Styric woman wrinkled her nose in disgust. Then she explained in a low voice: "A potion of some kind, set to rip the throne apart at a certain time by a carefully timed magic spell. If Sparhawk had been sitting here as he usually does at this time, he would have been torn apart along with his chair. It seems that whoever of the Gods is involved in this drain you have been talking about, Dorgatan, wants to ensure that there is no Anakha anymore to dispose of him."

* * *

Will go on from here in a couple of days – hope you liked! Please review! 


	13. Chapter 13

Okay, Guys, here I am again to bring you Chapter 13! I am sorry to tell you that I am not through all of the Tamuli yet; and, as I took on another task for a friend of mine, it might take yet another week for me to finish. I hope you're not mad at me and enjoy this chapter! 

05.07.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for details.

Disclaimer: David and Leigh Eddings own the characters and worlds, and I am not making money by using their creations in this story.

Current Music: Mix of various Anime-, J-Pop-, J-Rock, and Game-Music. Playing right now: GUNNM – Cyborg Mermaid

CHAPTER 13

After they had assured that Ehlana's injuries were fairly minor (the biggest concern being a minor concussion from the large splinter that had hit her on the head), the queen had been patched up by Sephrenia. She now lay in the bed she shared with Sparhawk, the Styric woman at her side. The whole castle guard had been mobilized in search for the perpetrator of this crime.

Sparhawk stood a little to the side, talking to the Atana in a low, urgent voice:

"Mirtai, would you consider taking up watching Ehlana for a while again? I know you have your family to worry about, but I have to find the person who did this to Ehlana, and I can't do that if I have to worry about this person starting another attempt on her!"

Mirtai considered this for a while and replied: "I will have to talk to my husband about this... but I'll do my best to stay here for a while, Sparhawk. I don't want to see her get hurt any more than you."

"Thank you, Atana," Sparhawk replied formally. "I will leave for now. Most likely the person who did this is not around anymore, but I would like to take a quick look around nonetheless. I will be back shortly. Will you be able to watch over Ehlana for that time?"

"Of course."

Sparhawk nodded, relieved that Mirtai would stay with his wife for a while, and left the room.

Outside, the Church knights, Vanion, and Belgarath and Polgara along with Dorgatan tried to calm the fuming Child Goddess, who was also the Queen's daughter. Aphrael sputtered, cursing in Styric and kicking the wall in what appeared a fit of rage. She only stopped when Dorgatan snapped at her in a language none of them understood – most likely the tongue of the Gods, a language which Sparhawk had only heard a couple of times.

"I should have known the Elder Gods were up to something again!", the Child Goddess spat at her relative. "We should have destroyed them when we had the chance – obviously they can break out of their prisons whenever it pleases them!"

"I wish she wouldn't talk about destroying Gods so casually," Bevier quietly complained to Ulath. That bought him a level stare from both Aphrael and Dorgatan, which caused him to stop voicing his theological sensitivities rather quickly.

"Aphrael," Dorgatan finally replied, "we don't know for certain yet whether it was one of the Elder Gods. Yes, all signs point towards it, but we have no proof just yet. Just think: In the Cyrgon Affair, you and your companions had thought for most of the time that it was the Troll Gods you were up against – until you found out the truth..."

He didn't get an opportunity to finish his little speech; one of the guards who had been involved in the search of the castle grounds strode up to Sparhawk at a brisk pace, saluted and announced: "Your Highness, we have found something that might be of interest to you. Please follow me."

He led the group to a room occupied by one of the minor courtiers; the man had been unknown to Sparhawk, but one could easily judge from the interior of his room that he had been the typical useless social butterfly – charming in your face, intriguing and backstabbing in the background.

'Had been' was the appropriate term; the man in question lay motionless on his bed, his swollen black tongue lolling out of his mouth, the lips blue, the staring eyes bloodshot, the face pallid. He looked as though he had been strangled – but there were no telltale marks on his neck.

Aphrael's eyes narrowed at the sight of the body, and she told the guard who had brought them here: "Thank you, Corporal – you can leave now."

Without thinking about the fact that he was being ordered around by a young girl, the man saluted and closed the door behind him. After he was gone, the Goddess ordered:

"Somebody check his body for anything out of the ordinary – marks, wounds, whatever you can find. I have a suspicion which I would like to confirm."

"I will do it," Polgara volunteered. "I am a trained physician – and I, too, have a thought I would like to confirm. His appearance hints at a poison, and a particular kind of poison at that."

She walked over to the cot, first checking his mouth and hands, then proceeding to the rest of the body. Finally, at the back of his neck, she found what she had been searching for: Two needle-fine wounds, close to each other and showing a peculiar green coloring on the rims. A mouldy odor wormed its way in her nose, and she wrinkled it as she announced:

"As I thought. This was the work of a snake. I cannot tell you which breed it was – I don't know the local snakes, much less which ones of them are poisonous."

"It should not happen here," Ulath remarked.

At Polgara's questioning gaze, Bevier translated: "There are no poisonous snakes in this part of the world, at least not to my knowledge. We have a few kinds down in Arcium, but they wouldn't survive the climate here for long – and none of them would bite a man in his sleep. They only attack when threatened. Furthermore, I can't think of a way this man could have attacked a snake so that it would bite him in the back of the neck."

"I can think of an explanation," Dorgatan replied, his facial expression angry. "I think we have our proof that an Elder God is involved."

Aphrael nodded. "Zoltach," she said, the name coming out of her mouth as an ominous hiss. "The God of the snakes, lies and intrigue. How fitting for him to be our adversary!"

"Why do you say that?", Vanion wanted to know.

Aphrael sighed. "It might be better if you know about it. Zoltach was the closest ally of Azash before we locked them all away. He uses snakes to do his bidding – there are different kinds he uses, some for domination of people, some for assassination. In this case, this bag," she pointed at a satchel of coins on the nearby table, "seems to have been the payment for the attempt on Sparhawk's life, and that," she directed her little finger at the wounds in the man's neck, "is the payment for his failure. He is the most devious among the Elder Gods, and not above bribing people who are already rotten enough to do his bidding without one of his creatures controlling him. I don't know why we haven't had any warning that he was on the rise again, however – I didn't feel him shatter his prison, as I felt it when Azash broke free..."

Dorgatan frowned. "Maybe he hasn't passed the barrier yet – maybe that is why he wants Anakha out of the way, to gain enough strength to break free without anyone hindering him."

"To do what?", Aphrael asked. "I still can't think of anything he could possibly do without worshippers – and he doesn't seem to have a significant amount of followers just yet, or we would have known about it."

The Messenger-God nodded. "That's why we have to follow the energy flow from my friends' world, once we sense its direction – I am sure the answer lies at the origin of the problem that led us here."

Suddenly, the door opened, showing a small, bendy-legged man with a shaved head standing in the frame.

"Where is the scoundrel who hurt my Doma?", he barked at Sparhawk, enraged.

"Here he is, Kring," the prince consort replied calmly. "His master has already gotten to him for his failure. We are about to follow a lead which hopefully will lead us to the person this attempt on our life originated with..."

"Then at him! I will tell my Peloi to be ready for a journey – we will collect this monster's ears, and a few other assorted body parts..."

Aphrael, who, to the unknowing Domi, appeared like Princess Danae, quickly shook her head at Sparhawk, who improvised:

"Uh, Domi, that might not be a good idea. See, we want to go stealthy about it – otherwise the scoundrel might realize we are after him too fast and flee our righteous vengeance. Furthermore, your wife has already agreed to watch over the Queen – and I would feel even better if you and your Peloi could guard the castle in general while we are out hunting down the person who hired this assassin. I will promise you, however, that his death will be slow and painful, and I will try to bring you his ears as a token of my gratitude for your service."

Kring thought about the Pandion's proposal for a short while, and then grudgingly agreed.

"Of course, Sparhawk. We will remain here until you return with the monster's ears. I will alert my Peloi to watch out for other scoundrels within the castle walls."

With these words, he left the room. After he didn't hear the Peloi chieftain's steps on the stone floor of the hallway anymore, Sparhawk sighed.

"So I have to go out and kill yet another God, is that it? What exactly am I supposed to be, their private little death?"

He looked at Aphrael, unconcealed plea in his eyes. "Why me?"

Despite the stern situation, Polgara had to stifle a laugh.

"Excuse me, Your Highness, but I have known a lot of people who have asked my father and me the exact same question."

The prince raised an eyebrow. "And what would you answer?"

"That they have been chosen by the Gods, that it is their destiny. This might not be the best consolation, but it is the only answer I ever had."

"Calm down, father," Aphrael now chimed in. "We don't know yet what course of action we will have to take when we find out where Zoltach bundles the energy from their world yet. You might want to prepare for the worst, though – Zoltach is not the most understanding God out there, and he might not like it if we come along to thwart his scheme."

* * *

There you go! Tonight, I only had time for one slightly longer-than-usual chapter, because I have to get up early tomorrow. Hope you enjoy, will be back next week (after I finally finish the Tamuli – am almost through Book 2!) with more! Please review! 


	14. Chapter 14

Hello again, folks! Yup, I finally managed to plow my way through the Tamuli! I brought along about 10 more story ideas for the Elenium/Tamuli-World, some of which will result in one-shots while some others might require a more in-depth story (and again others I might discard later, as I see fit)... But now to get back into my epic here! 

05.07.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for details.

DISCLAIMER: It's not mine (except the stuff mentioned in the Chapter-5-Disclaimer), please don't sue!

Current Music: Karissa Noel – Corrupt (Great song, was a flop on the single charts for some reason, and there never was an album. You should check it out anyway, it rules!) AND A-Ha – "Minor Earth Major Sky" (What can I say – I love those guys!)

CHAPTER 14

Ehlana, who had been lying in her bed idly, tried to slip her feet out from under the blankets. Sephrenia had just left, so the physician in charge was gone – that should account for something, shouldn't it?

But she had made her plans without Mirtai in mind. The Atana, who had stood at the window, gave her a stern look, a gaze that didn't encourage any opposition, and said evenly: "You will lie back down immediately, Ehlana."

"But I already feel much better, Mirtai!", the Queen of Elenia insisted and sat up – a little too rapidly, as she should learn right away. Her head spun, and she felt a slight urge to retch. She bravely fought down both ailments and met her guard's gaze.

The Atana and Doma of the western Peloi couldn't supress a smile. "Ehlana, I can see that you're not well – and Sephrenia told you to stay in bed at least all day today. If you want to convince somebody, try it with her – I will follow her instructions until you do, and that means you stay where you are."

The Queen sank back into her pillows, equally annoyed by Mirtai's unrelenting attitude and relieved that she did not have to prove anymore that she was well, since she knew she was not. But she had almost been obliged to give it a try...

She wondered whether Sparhawk had found out anything about their would-be assassin yet. Her expression hardened with anger as she hoped that the person was still alive – so her husband could tear off his skin stripe by thin stripe, peeling him like a fruit. If it hadn't been for their friends gathering here for their annual visit...

... then Sparhawk would be dead now, and she as well.

Just whom had they vexed so much that he wanted their deaths? Who had a desire to get rid of them? Of course, they had enemies – one couldn't avoid making them when working in politics – but none of them she could come up with seemed the type for cold-blooded murder. She hoped that there would be a lead for Sparhawk to follow, for follow it he would. She already knew that her husband would not rest until this attempt was investigated and the perpetrators had been suitably punished.

Her thoughts started wandering... She wished Alean had been able to make it to Cimmura, to be at her side right now, so she would not be so bored, lying here with nothing to do. Mirtai was a dear friend, but she would only talk to you for so long until she ran out of topics... But Alean now lived in a stately manor near Cardos, with Sparhawk's friend Kalten. They had been married almost instantly after their return from Matherion, and Alean, who had taken a while to produce offspring, now was in the final days of pregnancy with their first child and could not risk to travel that far.

However, Sparhawk and Ehlana had been delighted when the Peloi had brought Sephrenia and Vanion along. After the two of them had been rejuvenated by the Bhelliom before its departure from this world, the Styric woman appeared to be almost as young as Ehlana again, although she was at least 300 years old. And Vanion... he seemed to be no older than Sparhawk, although he had been her husband's teacher since his boyhood... She wondered whether those two would sire children, against the will of Styric and Elene religion...

That was how far she got with her thoughts before the door opened and her husband entered. He sat down on one side of the bed and smiled his slightly crooked smile Ehlana had come to love more and more over the years.

"How are you doing, dear?"

"A little drowsy, that's all. I was about to get up..."

His smile widened to a grin as he bowed down to kiss her forehead.

"Oh no, you weren't. I heard what Sephrenia told you – and you will stay in bed for at least one day, and if Mirtai will have to chain you to it."

She pouted at him for that, but when it only managed to raise his eyebrow, she laughed: "Okay, I'll be a good girl, I promise... so, has anybody found a lead to our assassin yet?"

His expression darkened. "We have found the would-be murderer dead in his room. There is a lot of evidence that he has been hired to kill us. That is why I'm here; I am afraid the clues lead us away from Cimmura. There seems to be some international conspiracy going on, and I would like to make sure that something like this doesn't happen again any time soon."

Sparhawk had thought up this story on the way to their bed chamber; he did not want to tell them about the true conclusion of their leads – it just would have upset her, and, more importantly, it would have forced him to explain a lot of things he would rather not talk about, Danae in truth being the Styric Child Goddess Aphrael being the most important one of them.

To his surprise, Ehlana did not ask anything more; her features showed him that she harbored at least as much anger as he did.

"You should do that, Sparhawk. I don't appreciate it when people try to murder you behind our backs... After all, the potion was attached to your throne, not mine. Meet them in an honest duel and show them what messing with the royal couple of Elenia is going to get them into! It might be best if you took our friends with you, in case whoever is behind this resorts to dirty methods of disposing of you again..."

Her husband had to fight to keep a straight face at her suggestion; he couldn't help but assume that Aphrael was tampering with her mother right now, as Ehlana's suggestion was just a tad too convenient... he decided to have a word with Danae after he left the room.

For now, he replied: "That sounds like a good idea to me. I already talked to Domi Kring – he and his men will guard you until I am back. Mirtai offered to resume her bodyguard duties for you for the time being, so you will be as safe as you can possibly get. I promise you, we'll get those people."

"When you run them through with your sword, make sure to tell them that I send them my greetings."

Ehlana's bleak expression showed Sparhawk once more that his wife had no scruples whatsoever to do terrible things to people who tried to cross her. If he didn't punish those people, she would do it, and, if chained to the bed as he had threatened her earlier, she would storm out of the castle, pulling the bed along behind her as she went, a rusty axe in her hand, to achieve her goal.

"Well, I'd better go. I won't be long if I can help it."

He kissed his wife, nodded to Mirtai and left the room.

* * *

Here's Chapter 14! Will write one more here in a minute! Please let me know what you think! 


	15. Chapter 15

Here it is, chapter 15 coming right up! Note that I most likely won't be able to write 2 chapters a night as I did before, but you'll see a lot more updates than you did while I was still gathering information, I promise! 

Disclaimer: As usual: I don't own it, and I have not and don't intend to make money out of this fic.

Current Music: Blind Guardian – "Nightfall on Middle Earth" (needed something stronger again – and it ROCKS!)

CHAPTER 15

Sparhawk had sent one of the castle guardsmen out to the Pandion chapterhouse outside of the city walls to notify his squire Khalad of his plans once he had left the royal bed chamber. Well, technically, Khalad deserved better than to be thought of as "Squire"; by now, he was an apprentice knight of the Pandion order of Church Knights, and an extremely good one at that. But the young man thought of himself as Sparhawk's squire, as he also was the oldest son of Kurik, squire of both the prince consort and his father before him, and as it was tradition in his family to serve the Sparhawk family. The current Sparhawk did not want to offend Khalad by neglecting to tell him that he, although getting on in years, was off to a new adventure again.

Heldin, his right-hand man in matters of the Pandion order, would take care of the knights until he got back – and hopefully afterwards as well, as the patriarchs in Chyrellos finally were to decide on a new preceptor for the black-armored Elenes. After all, Sparhawk was only the interim preceptor – not that they had not tried to push him into taking on the position permanently long enough...

He also arranged to have his horse saddled and to have a few packhorses burdened with tents, rations and whatever else they would most likely need on their journey, then he went back to the room in which they had found the dead courtier, where the others waited for him.

"Danae, the next time you tamper with your mother's tongue, warn me," he told his daughter flatly and without preamble.

"I didn't really have to do all that much," the princess defended herself. "She was very mad at the people who tried to kill you. All I did was to make her sort of forget that she wants you at her side all the time."

Sparhawk decided to drop the matter at this point – after all, he could not be mad at Danae for very long anyway, and her intervention had helped him to get Ehlana to consent to a punitive expedition...

Belgarath, who did not say anything to the exchange between this special father-daughter combination, was surprised when Aphrael admitted her 'tampering'. Of course, the Gods of their world could overbear the wills of mere humans whenever they wished to do so, but in general the individuals knew they were being manipulated. Obviously, this Child Goddess could change the attitudes of people so subtly that they never realized what Aphrael did to them. Very interesting indeed...

He glanced over to the door that had just opened. A rather husky young man with broad shoulders, black hair and a closely cropped beard of the same color entered the room and greeted everybody; obviously, he knew Bevier, Ulath, Tynian, Vanion and Sephrenia already. Then, he strode over towards the two disciples of Aldur.

"Well-met, neighbors. My name is Khalad; I am the squire of Prince Sparhawk. And you are...?"

Polgara inclined her head politely. "My name is Polgara, and this is my father Belgarath. As to who we are... well, I believe the other people in this room will be able to fill you in about it more effectively than us, as the story is quite unbelievable."

"That it is, indeed, friend Khalad," Tynian took over from the sorceress, who didn't quite know how to believably explain just how they had gotten here and who they were. "Let me explain..."

It did not take long to fill the young man in about what the group had learned about their visitors and about what had happened in the throne room; Khalad merely nodded during passages of their account and seemed to accept what was being told to him at face value. As Sparhawk finally mentioned to him just who Danae really was, he could not keep from laughing out loud.

"So my dear brother has a Goddess going after him? Poor Talen – he never had a chance in the first place!"

Talen was the son of Kurik and a former whore from Cimmura, who had grown up on the streets as one of the best thiefs one could think of; he had served Queen Ehlana as a page on the voyage to Tamul and now was a novice in the Pandion order. Princess Danae had adamantly stated countless times that she would marry him, and although Talen shrugged it off as a young girl's whimsical statement, he already seemed to know that getting away from her was not going to be easy.

Aphrael, who was still in the appearance of Princess Danae, smirked at him. "You're right – there is no place he can run to where I won't find him. I already badgered the Elene God into leaving him to me, so the deal is already done!"

Khalad laughed again.

"Too bad I can't tell him about this – not that it would do him any good, anyway..."

Suddenly, the door flew open and Dorgatan entered the room at a run. He had been out in the courtyard, trying to locate just where the Energy that was being drained out of Belgarath's and Polgara's world was flowing to.

"I found it!" was all he said to them. Then, he turned towards the newest incarnation of Aphrael and talked to her at length in the compelling language of the Gods.

Finally, the Child Goddess nodded. "I understand. Now I can feel it, too. The disguise is very clever – but once we knew what to look for, we were bound to find it sooner or later. We should leave soon. But first: Everybody but Dorgatan please turns around and faces the wall. I would like some privacy."

Obediently, everybody turned around. Belgarath, who couldn't conceal his curiosity, whispered to Bevier: "What is she doing?"

"I believe she is about to split her newest incarnation – that of the princess – off her Goddess self, so she can be here and with us at the same time," the Arcian replied. "She doesn't want to watch her while she does it."

"Exactly, Bevier. You can be such a nice boy."

"... when you don't set your mind to be stubborn, that is."

Two nearly identical voices behind them told them that the process had been completed; next to the princess stood a rather small girl of about six years. She looked like the princess must have looked when she was her age, and a confident smile was on her face.

"Hello again, Belgarath and Polgara. This is how most people see me. You can call me Aphrael – or Flute, if you prefer."

She blew a cute little melody on the rack of pipes that had appeared in her hands, which looked exactly like the one Dorgatan had held when he had found the two sorcerers.

"Well, what are you waiting for – let's go!"

It did not take long for the group to clear the roads of the Elene capital. Soon, they were riding through open land. Sparhawk sat on Tieran, the young and fiery offspring of late Faran, Aphrael in front of him, leading the way. Belgarath, Polgara and Dorgatan were following right behind him on Feliad, Dorim and Zandail; Vanion and Sephrenia formed the next row on a rather placid Appaloosa mare and the white palfrey Chi'el, and the three other knights and Khalad brought up the rear behind the packhorses. Thus, they cantered off into the east.

* * *

There you go, two new chapters! Hope you enjoy! Dunno whether I'll write tomorrow – still have proofing to do. But I'll write more this week, I promise! 

Feedback appreciated!


	16. Chapter 16

Hello guys! I am sorry that I couldn't keep my promise, but the day before yesterday we had some extreme computer problems and I didn't want to write yesterday night as I was being afraid the darn thing would die on me while I was writing... but it seems that everything is alright again, so here's the promised update! 

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See reason in chapter 3.

Current Music: None, am watching "Star Trek – The Motion Picture" while typing this, it's on TV right now.

Disclaimer: The Belgariad, Malloreon, Elenium and Tamuli are sole property of David and Leigh Eddings and their respective publishers. I have not and do not intend to use their creation for commercial purposes.

CHAPTER 16

The group made good time the first afternoon; they rode in a steady canter in northwesterly direction. If they kept up this pace, they predicted, they would reach Lenda within five days.

After they had been on the road for a couple of hours, the first casual talks broke out among them; logically, they concentrated first and foremost on Belgarath and Polgara, what their world was like and where the differences between it and this realm were. It didn't take long until the knights brought up magic as a topic. Tynian asked,

"Dorgatan told us that you were great magicians in your world, but that you can't use your sorcery here. I am not sure whether I can imagine any other way to do magic than to ask a God for help with a spell and the finger patterns. Are you unable to use your kind of magic simply because your God is not here, or is it merely different from ours? And is being a disciple of a God similar to being his priest?"

"Well," Polgara started to reply, "I think there are a lot of similarities between being a disciple in our world and being a Styric priest in this world. We are very close to our God, although we do not pray to him, for we are too close to him for that – and we have also been known to convey messages of our God to other parties and carry out his Will. We differ from our priests and Elene priests in that we do not seek to convert people to our faith, and we do not preach to other followers of our God. In fact, Aldur is not the main God of any of the peoples of our world; he has us, his disciples, and the Sendars pray to him, because they pray to all the Gods – but there are no worshippers."

"But how does he maintain his power without worshippers? We would be lost without people believing in us," Dorgatan exclaimed.

"I don't know," Polgara shrugged. "Maybe in our realm, the Gods are what they are because they... just are, what they are. They were born from the Universe long before there was life on our world. They shaped us to their liking. At least that is what we were told. Anyway, Aldur is far from being powerless."

"As for our 'magic'", Belgarath proceeded, "It does indeed work very different from the magic here. We call our magic "The Will and the Word", because it is that simple. We don't have to recite a complicated spell, nor do we have to move our hands to weave it, although my daughter likes to make hand gestures when releasing her Will."

Polgara shot him a flat stare, and her father hurried on: "The Will requires nothing but that – a strong will, a will literally able to move mountains. You just think about what you want to do, then you say the appropriate word to release it. For example, if I wanted to set fire to a house, I would think of flames comsuming the building and say 'burn'. That is all, in essence. Of course, only few people can muster the will and the concentration to work our kind of magic, but it doesn't matter what they believe in. Some sorcerers – for that is what we prefer to call ourselves, as magicians in our world practice somethingfundamentally different from our sorcery and your magic – do not believe in anything, yet they are still able to work with their Will.

We can do almost anything; except bring people back from the dead, as death is simply to hard to overcome, move great amounts of mass such as the aforementioned mountain, for it would be almost impossible to gather the necessary energy to do so, and last but not least, will anything out of existence. We are told that the Universe does not tolerate total obliteration of anything She created; therefore, She removes the perpetrator himself out of Herself. We had no idea that She simply transported them here instead of just disintegrating them... Oh, we also have to try and work with the natural laws of our world, for it is impossible to change or suspend them and the backlash of an act against them would throw the world in turmoil for years on end, and we cannot force our Will on others directly. We cannot change thoughts by simply wishing so; we have to convince people like anybody else. Of course, our sorcery gives us means of persuasion unavailable to others, but that is all."

The others seemed to be stunned by Belgarath's description of their capabilities. "Your 'sorcery' seems to be much more like the powers of the Younger Gods than our magic," Sephrenia voiced their thoughts. "There are some things they can do that you mentioned you can't, but..."

The Styric woman's voice trailed off.

"How does it feel to be as close to allmighty as a human can possibly get?", Khalad asked curiously.

To Belgarath's and Polgara's surprise, it was Sparhawk who answered his question. "At first? Very good, and at the same time very disconcerting. It is a big reponsibility to have that kind of power at your disposal. That is why I refused it when Bhelliom tried to give it to me for good."

"You have been very lucky, Prince Sparhawk," Polgara commented. "In our world, when one discovers the power of the Will and the Word, it is impossible to forget it. One might not use it, but one will never be able to deny the power at their fingertips. My nephew many generations removed took a long time to get used to that thought. I was raised with it, so it was a lot easier for me – but sometimes in all the years I wished that I could lead a normal life and die after a normal life span, just like those other people I lived amongst. But the Gods have been so kind as to bestow the same gift on my husband, so I have no griefs anymore."

"Didn't you say one finds out about the Will be themselves?", Ulath asked.

"My husband was a... special case. It's a long story," she replied shortly, and a shadow hushed over her expression. It was not easy for her to think back to the time when Durnik had been lying on the floor of Torak's crypt in Cthol Mishrak, utterly lifeless... how she had cried and begged the Gods to do something about this, how she had even managed to defy Torak's will...

A sudden loud noise tore her out of her unhappy reverie; the sound of horse's hooves clopping along on the road in a gallop. And it sounded like a LOT of horses.

Sparhawk squinted ahead suspiciously. "Let's get ready," he said shortly. "I don't know for sure whether there's really trouble up ahead, but I have a feeling that the people coming towards us aren't going to be friendly."

He was right; the group whose horses they had heard came around the hill and drove their already exhausted-seeming horses into a charge with a bellow upon seeing them. Most of them seemed to be peasants, riding on plough-mares and carriage-horses; but there also seemed some minor noblemen among them; their clothes were good, and their horses were fine purebreeds, suited for a leisure ride or one-man-transportation, but not as warhorses. The were armed with a variety of weapons; from pitchforks, used amateurishly as spears and lances, to drawn rapiers, everything was there.

The knights faltered for a moment, but they defended themselves when the first attackers reached him.

"What business do you have with us, neighbor?", Khalad yelled as he struggled to keep a man with a large, rusty sword from slicing him up. Then he saw the mindless rage in the man's eyes and called to Sparhawk: "They're in a frenzy – we can't keep them from fighting, my lord!"

"Incapacitate them, then!", the prince consort shouted back and chopped a man's hand off. It fell to the ground, a rapier still firmly clutched in its fingers. The man he had just been fighting with howled in agony and fell off his horse; he didn't seem to be a good rider nor a good warrior.

Then, Sparhawk saw something disturbing; the man bowed down, revealing his neck – and a tiny, yellowish thing seemed to grow out of it. He realized at once what was happening.

"They're being dominated! Remove the snakes from the back of their necks!"

The knights reacted immediately; they only blocked with their swords and axes to reach over and pluck the reptiles from the men's necks. Polgara, who had drawn her daggers, proved to be most successful in getting rid of the snakes; one dagger deflected weapon blows while the other chopped the animal's bodies off their heads within fractions of a second.

Within a few minutes, it was over. Groaning peasants and nobles lay on the ground, most of them uninjured; once the snakes had been removed or killed, they had come out of their frenzy and now seemed quite disoriented.

Dorgatan shook his head, an expression of disgust on his face. "If you still had any doubts that Zoltach is behind all this, there's your proof; he sent those people to kill us. We should be watching for groups like this one from now on – it is very possible that he will bombard us with peasants waving pitchforks at us..."

"No, Dorgatan," Aphrael replied. "He is not that singleminded or that simple. He will get at us in other, more subtle ways, now that this open attack did not work. In short, it will get very dangerous for us before this is over."

* * *

There we go, one more chapter! Sorry I couldn't get two done, but I had to stop for two hours inbetween because of a thunderstorm... But never ye worry, I don't think the next update will take too long! 

Please drop me a comment!


	17. Chapter 17

Hi there! As I promised, the update didn't take long, now did it? ;-) 

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for reason.

Okay, and now on to the next chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own any part in David Eddings' work, and I do not intend to make a profit with this fic.

Current Music: Para Para Anime Euromixes, sung by Yoko Ishida (yeah, wave your arms!)

CHAPTER 17

Ctuchik paced on the stone ground of his room on top of the abandoned lighthouse he had set up shop in, swearing sulphurously. Not only had his first attempt on Anakha's life failed, he had hoped to at least thin out the group by sending the dominated people at them. Zoltach had told him that two of the impertinent Styric Godlings were riding with Belgarath and Polgara, and that Anakha was with them, as well. It would be next to impossible to compete in a battle with such an illustrious group; however, he would try along their way across the continent to pick off some of them, preferably the mortal shells of the Gods first, Sparhawk being a close second.

But the group, he hated to see, made good time despite the diversion. They had been on the road for a couple of days already and would reach Lenda in another three days.

"Not if I can help it, they won't," he grumbled to himself. He had bought another person in the court of Cimmura, a professional this time. That person would be sent to kill Queen Ehlana in the most painful manner possible. Her most effective guard, her husband, was gone. After she was found dead, they would send fast messengers after Prince Sparhawk, and he would insist on going back to Cimmura for the time being. Maybe the death of Ehlana would even manage to break his spirit, rendering him a sobbing wreck for the remainder of his life... anyway, it would delay him, if it did not manage to stop him, which would buy the new High Priest of Zoltach a little more time to dispose of them.

Ctuchik's lips peeled back in a grin as he reached into the darkness encompassing his God's prison to send out his fastest messenger.

* * *

A day later, the hideous thing the old Grolim had summoned, a being vaguely resembling a dragonfly from afar, reached the Red Lamork. In reality, the messenger was a winged snake, its long, curved teeth dripping with poison. In a hissing, toneless voice it quoted what Ctuchik had told it to say, mentioning the methods of payment after the job was done and warning that Zoltach's wrath would be terrible if his will not be done. 

The professional assassin waved his hand impatiently. He was an atheist, and definitely not interested in any imaginary allmighty beings and their feelings about his work. The only thing that interested him was money – and that, he was assured, he would receive promptly after the Queen had succumbed to the mysterious illness that was the Red Lamork. His poisoned daggers, thrust right into the brain stem from below, would rob her of her life in the fastest and surest manner possible...

The snake hissed sharply, suddenly reminding him that he was used to speaking his thoughts out aloud. 'Ctuchik does not want the Queen to die fast. Hurt her a lot before you kill her – as much as possible. The more pain she feels, the more money you will receive. Now carry out your orders, or feel Zoltach's wrath!'

And with a small pop, the messenger vanished.

The Red Lamork shrugged. The customer was always right, and the Queen would be dead in a few hours - after she had been in a world of pain first, as ordered.

He was an assassin, but he did believe in work ethics.

* * *

Ehlana, who had no idea that yet another plot was about to come to a head by another assassination attempt, had just gotten ready for bed. Mirtai's little son Tassal kept her company, after his mother had excused herself for a couple of hours to help her husband shave his scalp. Although the Atana had boasted with Tassal being an accomplished warrior, Ehlana could not help but smile at the thought. True, the two-year-old was at least as tall as an Elene boy of six, and his stern behavior let him seem even older, but he still was a little boy who did not even talk very much yet! She would be very surprised if Tassal would be able to keep any hypothetical attackers off her at this point – not that she was afraid of anyone attacking her in the first place. The last attempt had been on Sparhawk's life, and she feared more for him than she feared for herself at this point... 

She fondly looked at Tassal when she heard someone at the door.

"I believe that will be your mother, Tassal. I am sure she will send you back to your tent for the night. Thank you for watching over me."

"A child watching over Her Majesty? How quaint!"

Ehlana's head snapped up, her gaze directed at the door now. Obviously, it was not Mirtai who had just arrived. Instead, it was a man, dressed all over in dark burgundy. A long dagger glistened in his hand.

The Queen's heart sped up with fear. How wrong she had been about there not being another attempt while Sparhawk was gone!

The man grinned at her. "I am afraid I am instructed to have you suffer a great deal at my hands before I kill you – but I assure you, if you scream for help, I will just kill you without torture with a dagger to the heart, and be on my way. So why don't you keep quiet, so your life lasts a little longer? I might even listen to your begging and put you out of your misery painlessly, with a thrust to the brain... But first we'll try it the way my customer has requested. You sure are a nice piece of flesh – I gather we'll have a lot of fun before the end... well, I will, anyway. It's little things like this that make the job so uplifting for me... Hey, what do you want, boy? Out of my way!"

Tassal had gotten up from his chair where he had been polishing his small dagger, walked up to the sneering man and wordlessly assumed a fighting stance.

The Red Lamork felt a wave of laughter creeping up in his throat; he managed to force his amusement down into a condescending grin at the bronze-skinned child.

"Very cute, boy. Why don't you beat it now? The lady and I have some things to discuss, and I don't like to hurt children, but if you stay where you are, I will... aaaaargh!"

Still keeping his eerie silence, the boy lifted his knife and sliced in a quick slash across the Red Lamork's abdomen. The knife was as sharp as it could possibly be – Tassal sharpened and polished it himself every day. The blade cut a neat line into the man's belly, a line that gaped open a few moments later, releasing the Red Lamork's steaming guts into the open. The assassin had barely time to wonder about what happened to him; the boy climbed on his knee, which was bowed in pain and wonderment, and stabbed the knife straight into his heart.

Wordlessly, the Red Lamork, professional assassin, collapsed to a limp heap on the floor.

Ehlana stared at the dead man, half relieved that her thoughts about Tassal had been proved wrong, half stunned by the gruesome happenings which had ocurred in the last minutes. She did not even register the door opening again, admitting Mirtai this time. She looked at the assassin her son had killed and cast a disapproving look at him.

"Tassal, what did I tell you about gutting people inside buildings? The servants will have to spend hours on cleaning this carpet."

"I am sorry, mother." The soprano of a very young child, making the situation that much more absurd.

For some dreadful seconds Ehlana had to fight a hysteric yip of laughter from escaping her. She managed to say instead: "That is quite alright, Mirtai. Your boy saved my life. I am sorry I didn't quite believe you about the boy until now."

Mirtai raised an eye brow. "You should know that I would never lie to you, Ehlana. Now go to bed – I will stay here for the night. Tassal, go home to your father."

"Yes, mother." The boy rose and crossed the room, not even looking at the body of the man he had just killed. He flashed the queen a quick smile before he pulled the door shut behind him.

* * *

Zoltach, the Elder God representing the allmighty power of the lie in the world, roared in anger when he saw that his Priest's plan had been foiled again – and by a near-infant, no less! Ctuchik would hear about this... If he had not been so important to the Snake-God just yet, he would have gladly disposed of him, deliciously depraved though he was. Zoltach did not tolerate failure. The assassin could consider himself lucky that he died at the child's hands – otherwise, he would have punished him for his mistake for at least a thousand years... 

But, flawed as his priest was, he was right in one aspect: A diversion would buy them enough time to dispose of their enemies conveniently. He decided that drastic measures would have to be taken to stop Anakha from getting to the point where the energy of the world Ctuchik had led him to coalesced into something that would not only free him, but aid him in dominating the world he had longed for for countless eons.

A huge, invisible hand began touching the solid beam of energy, caressing it... and then ripping a hole into it.

* * *

There we go, Chapter 17! Will write two chapters tonight, as a little apology for being late with my last update... next update some time next week! As usual – please drop me a comment! 


	18. Chapter 18

Okay, and here the promised next chapter! BTW: You might have noticed that the rating changed to PG-13 – I decided that the explicit bloodshed coming up in these chapters would not exactly be suitable for 4-year-olds and the likes... 

Current Music: Still Para Para – now the official Game OST! Boom Boom Fire, yeah! ;-)

Disclaimer: I do not own any part in David Eddings' work, and I do not intend to make money out of this fic.

CHAPTER 18

Five days after they had left Cimmura, Lenda appeared behind a hilltop on a warm late afternoon. Sparhawk sighed happily. "Finally a real bed again!"

Khalad eyed him, obviously amused. "Getting too old to sleep on the floor, my lord?", he teased his master.

Bevier laughed at that. "Sparhawk? Never! He will still sleep on the hard floor when he is as old as Obler was when he finally died of old age, I have no doubt in that!"

"Very funny, Bevier," the prince consort grumbled. Indeed he had been feeling increasingly stiff and his back hurt from sleeping on the ground – but he refused to admit it to his companions, most of whom were quite a bit younger than he was. Ah, the joys of advanced age... he decided to ram those words down the throat of the poet who had first coined the phrase.

"Khalad, why don't you ride ahead and find a good inn while we check our rations and see whether we can resupply before we leave Lenda?"

"At once, my lord." The squire spurred his horse into a canter and rode towards the city, which looked much like any other Elene city on the continent of Eosia – and quite a few Elene cities in Daresia, as well.

When he was gone, Aphrael suddenly raised her head. "Something is wrong!", she said

After a few seconds of what seemed like intent listening, Dorgatan nodded.

"Zoltach is trying to make locating him harder for us. The flow of energy... it suddenly started splitting up, and the split-up parts split up again... he is trying to mislead us by creating more focus points. There are good things about that – for once, I believe that at the fake focus points, where he doesn't use his power to bundle it into whatever he plans to do with it, the energy will simply flow back to your world, so his plans have at least been slowed down significantly for now. But, and that is the downside, his plan seems to work – at least as of this moment. I can't focus on the main beam anymore, and that means we will have to come up with a new idea to find out where we have to go."

Aphrael added: "Why don't we restock and sleep on that? Maybe we can come up with a solution after a good night's sleep."

It didn't take long for them to find the market place, where Polgara took charge; she haggled with the farmers selling meat and vegetables as though every copper piece meant the world, and restocked the packhorse fairly quickly with everything they needed.

"I still don't know why you don't let me cook, but ask Sir Ulath whose turn it is to cook instead, just to be told that it is YOUR turn. Is this some kind of obscure joke?"

Tynian started to laugh aloud when Bevier, a huge grin on his tanned face, explained: "Yes, it is a joke, indeed – very hard to explain, Lady Polgara. You almost had to have been there when he started doing that... but I will not ask Ulath anymore, if it makes you happy. Truth be told, I would bet my life that your cooking is a lot more palatable than anything I and my fellow knights could come up with."

Just then, Khalad had found them among the masses on the large square, and told them that he had found a good, cheap place for the night, one that appeared clean enough and even seemed to have a bath house.

Nobody raised any objections, and so the group led their horses into the stables which belonged to the inn just a few minutes later. Then they entered the large house, and Sparhawk called out for the innkeeper.

"Well met, neighbor," he greeted the fat, red-faced man with the huge hands, "we would like rooms for all of us, and a good supper."

"And a bath after supper, if possible," Polgara added.

Sparhawk nodded with an amused smile. "Just as the lady said, good man. And please serve up some lamb additionally to the ham – four of our number do not take well to pork. That will be all, I believe."

The innkeeper nodded eagerly; he obviously thought that there would be a good sum of money in it if he pleased these guests.

"Of course, my lord. Dinner with extra lamb will be served in half an hour. If you want to take your belongings up to your rooms before we have your food ready..."

"We will," Sparhawk replied, eyeing the innkeeper suspiciously. Something about the man struck him as wrong... but there was no definite reason for this feeling. He decided to wait a little longer before he alarmed the others – maybe he was wrong about him...

* * *

After a solid supper and a refreshing bath, the group had retired rather quickly to their rooms. They had all been weary after a few days on the road – not that they minded sleeping on the floor, but a bed was always preferable. 

The innkeeper, who had already been compensated by the tall Church Knight in the black armor, was about to retire himself, when a sudden urge drove him up the stairs to the guests' rooms. Ctuchik had told him what to do...

The innkeeper usually was a harmless, although not completely honest man; that had changed, however, when tiny teeth had clamped themselves into the skin of his neck while he had been asleep next to his wife. He did not even know that there was anything wrong with him, did not notice the tiny yellow snake, which had locked her teeth into him, hidden by his hair and hat. Through her poison came the message that drove him, and the message was "kill".

Slowly, he opened one of the doors, cold steel glinting in the dimly lit corridor leading to the rooms. It was occupied by the Alcione Knight and the young Styric brat they had had with them. Both were fast asleep; the knight snored rather loudly. It would be easy...

The innkeeper turned toward the bed the boy slept in, lifted the hand holding the knife over his head, and plunged it into the Styric's breast.

The boy's eyes flew open, his head lifted off the pillow it had been lying on, and a loud gurgling noise came from his mouth as blood gushed out of it. The next moment, he heard a gasp as the knight woke up and saw what he had done. It did not matter. He had to kill... for Ctuchik...

The innkeeper turned around, eyes piercing into those of the Deiran...

Tynian had woken up at once when he had heard the noise Dorgatan had made. Sitting up as fast as he could after having been forced out of the depths of sleep, he assessed the situation at once; the innkeeper stood in the middle of the room, holding a bloody knife which obviously was responsible for the gaping wound in Dorgatan's chest.

He jumped to his feet, blocked a slow thrust of the innkeeper's dagger and hit him hard upside his temple. The knight's opponent collapsed, unconcious.

Frantically, Tynian ripped the door open, ran along the hallway and entered the room Sephrenia slept in without even bothering to knock.

"Little mother, come quickly! The innkeeper stabbed Dorgatan, and the boy seems to be dying!"

It didn't take long to alert the rest of the group of what had just happened. Now they sat around the still unconscious innkeeper, who had been brought into Ulath's and Bevier's room, while Sephrenia and Aphrael tried to save the life of the incarnation of the Styric Messenger-God.

Polgara kneeled next to him, pushing his head forward to have a look at his neck. "As we thought," she said. "One of Zoltach's dominating snakes."

She thought for a moment, then she added: "I don't think we should remove it just yet. He will forget everything that happened once we do. Maybe he can tell us why he was instructed to kill us."

Sephrenia entered the room, a very tired-looking Aphrael right behind her.

"I couldn't do anything," she said wearily. "His heart was stabbed, and the iron in the knife did the rest. This incarnation of Dorgatan is dead, I am afraid."

"... Which means, it will take him a long time to get over it," Aphrael added grimly. "Of course, you can't kill a God by destroying one of his incarnations, but killing his human body is like breaking an incredibly powerful spell – it hurts a lot. Dorgatan won't be able to join us again for weeks on end now – he can't manifest while coping with the pain..."

At that moment, the innkeeper's eyes fluttered open, slowly focussing on the figures standing over him.

Polgara, who was more upset about Dorgatan's incarnation dying than she was willing to show, nonchalantly set the tip of one of her daggers to the man's throat. He sneered up at her.

"Go ahead, wench, kill this body. I have served my purpose!"

"That you have, snake," Polgara answered, more than a hint of steel in her voice. "However, I wasn't planning on killing this man – I will settle for peeling your skin off the hard way instead."

The man's eyes went wide with the snake's apparent surprise.

"You wouldn't dare. I am the pet of the great God Zoltach!", he hissed.

Polgara laughed at that. "Try me, worm," she replied coldly, moving the knife to the back of the man's neck. "Or tell us some more about what your master wants with the energy of our world!"

"I don't know." The man's tone was sullen now. The sorceress raised her dagger, as if ready to slice off a part of the brightly colored snake. "I don't know!", the man screamed now. "Ctuchik wouldn't tell..."

That was how far the snake got before her God caught up with her. The tiny reptile suddenly exploded with a loud pop, parts of it showering the stunned Polgara. She exchanged a dazed glance with her father.

Ctuchik!

* * *

Okay, that's it for tonight! Hope you enjoyed! Comments appreciated! 


	19. Chapter 19

Hello friends! Thought I'd bring you another chapter before I turn in for the night tonight... And I have some good news! I got the complete story outlined now; it will be 30 chapters all in all, so still 11 chapters to go after this one... 

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for details.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part in Eddings' work, and I do not intend to make a profit out of this fic.

Current Music: OST – DDR Extreme (Game comes out here in fall, yay! Need... to... jump... around! DROP THE BOMB!)

CHAPTER 19

Rain fell on the horses and their riders as they made their way through the hills that surrounded the Pelosian city of Alaris. Their stay there had been a short one, as they had not wanted to lose time.

It had been raining for the last two weeks, almost as though the clouds were weeping for the demise of Dorgatan's incarnation. They had left the innkeeper in Lenda alive, just as Polgara had told the snake – after all, he did not even remember what he had done after Zoltach had disposed of the snake for her quick tongue. But it had been to late – the name of Ctuchik had fallen, and the element of surprise was lost for the Grolim.

The morning they had left Lenda for Alaris, they had found that Zandail had vanished. He had been the manifestation of Dorgatan's need for fast transportation, so he, too, had had to go when his master had stopped breathing.

Aphrael, furious at Zoltach's gall, had put her foot down when some of the knights had suggested staying in Lenda for one more night to re-evaluate their strategy.

"What's there to evaluate?", she asked, her eyes flashing. "We'll just follow the general direction the flow of energy took before Zoltach split it up – there's only so far we can go that way without falling into the sea of Zemoch."

And so they had departed. Now, after riding for a little more than two weeks of constant rain, camping outside on the soaked floor and not being able to cook their food most of the time, tempers were running high; they did not talk much to each other, lest they receive a snappy remark in response.

Dusk was about to fall, and it was time for them to set up their tents. Wordlessly, Belgarath, Ulath, Bevier and Sparhawk started working on this task, while Tynian went off to try and find some dry wood for a fire. Vanion, who had been feeding the horses, tried to lighten up the mood by asking the Genidian knight:

"Ulath, whose turn is it..."

"Don't!", Polgara snapped at him. "I will cook!" Muttering, she stalked off to the packhorse to get some supplies.

Vanion, taken aback by her tone, murmured "Yes, milady General..." to himself. THAT got Ulath and Bevier to laugh.

An hour later, a small fire crackled in front of the tents, and all of the group were chewing on a savory vegetable stew and warmed up bread. Finally, Belgarath broke the silence by asking Aphrael:

"Divine One, can you tell us how Dorgatan is right now? Is he recovering from the death of his incarnation?"

The Child Goddess sighed. "I can't tell, Belgarath. Right now, I cannot feel his presence – but that does not have to mean anything. He could have left the world for a while, until he has control over himself again. His worshippers know about what happened and are comforting him with their prayers right now, and I gave some of my people the permission to help with his recovery, as well – hopefully, he will be back soon."

Belgarath and Polgara exchanged a guilty look at that – they had not prayed to Dorgatan at all, although their contract stated that they had to. Even now, when he obviously needed the love of his worshippers, they had not even tried to pray for his recovery!

During the next few minutes, they sat there in silence, with the two sorcerers trying to compose a prayer that would give the Styric Messenger-God strength.

Their thoughts were interrupted abruptly when a loud roar shattered the damp silence that encompassed them. The knights immediately jumped up, their swords drawn even before a number of responding howls and snarls sounded all around them. They were surrounded!

Aphrael cursed. "There are no men among those warriors – they are Zoltach's creatures! Be very careful – most of them might be poisonous, and their poisons will not grant you a quick death!"

It was dark by now – thankfully, the rain had let up, and a large, full moon stood high in the sky. That made it easier for the knights to see the things when they finally decided to attack.

Some of them looked almost human, if it had not been for the scales that covered their faces and hands. They were armed with large, sickle-like implements, and two rows of teeth shimmered evilly in both of their jaws. Others were outright reptilian – they walked on two powerful hind legs, the tiny front legs adorned with claws. Their snarling, hissing and bellowing got louder as they closed in on the group, which had formed a circle, their backs to the fire, their weapons pointed at the reptiles.

Calmly, Sephrenia looked at Vanion, Aphrael, Belgarath and Polgara. "I believe we must take action now," she said softly. "The knights won't be able to do much to those creatures with their swords and axes – that is why Zoltach sent them, after all. What he doesn't know is that you two and you, my dear, are capable of the magic to defeat them, as well. If it was only for Aphrael and me, we might be in danger; but together, we can send them back to their own realm – or destroy them, if necessary. Use the banishment spell for animal spirits, and if that doesn't work, use the Death Spell – but remember to supply 'argalexmentack' for 'tarklexmentack', we are not dealing with humans here, after all..."

"The knights don't know the Death Spell, I take it?", Polgara asked.

Sephrenia smiled at her. "If they do, they didn't learn it from me or my associates. They kill with swords, not magic."

"Will our magic work, anyway?", Belgarath added. "After all, Dorgatan is not available right now..."

"I will aid you until he is back," Aphrael promised.

While they were talking, the lizard soldiers had come dangerously close. The knights raised their weapons, ready to charge, while the two sorcerers, Sephrenia and Vanion started weaving their spells and Aphrael blew an aggressive staccato melody on her pipes.

They released their magic all at once; the air crackled as five of the lizardmen simply winked out of existence. Sephrenia's theory about their attackers being impervious to regular weapons had been right; one of them brushed off Ulath's signature axe blow to the head as if the tall Genidian had just patted him with a hand, and Bevier's lochaber bounced off arms and legs as though it was made of cloth. The knights jumped back – they had not forgotten about Aphrael's warning of poison – as the spells struck home a second time.

And then, suddenly, a single, powerful word resounded in the air – and the remaining beasts' heads exploded with an oozing noise. The area was sprayed with blood and brains as the group looked around in confusion to find the person who had killed their attackers.

And then they caught sight of him: A tall, handsome man, who stepped down the small hill next to their tents, waving at them in greeting. Belgarath was the only one aside from Aphrael to recognize him. While the Child Goddess just beamed at her cousin (or brother – what did those terms mean to the Younger Gods, after all?), he said:

"Welcome back, Dorgatan. I trust you are better?"

Dorgatan laughed at that. His long, black hair was tied together at the neck with a leather strip, and his white shirt did not conceal the wiry muscles underneath it. White teeth flashed at the group in a typical Dorgatan grin, as he answered:

"I can't fool you, can I, Belgarath? I almost wished I could keep you and Polgara, but I don't think your Aldur would be very happy with me – and he doesn't sound as though I could risk his wrath! Ho, Zandail – come here, your friends are down here!"

And truly, a whinny sounded from afar, and not a minute later, the huge, black stallion galloped down the hill to join the other horses.

Aphrael returned the Messenger-God's grin. "I take it our relatives have allowed you to bend the rules a little?"

Dorgatan's face turned grim, although his smile didn't quite vanish from his face. Suddenly, the good-natured boy – the good-natured MAN – looked dangerous in his rage.

"You know how it goes, Aphrael – they play dirty, we play dirty. You wouldn't have been allowed to tamper with Bhelliom if Azash hadn't broken the rules – and I wouldn't have been able to use the Word against your attackers, if it hadn't been for the assassination of my incarnation. He is allowed to kill my worshippers, but not me – unfair, but those are the rules. He breaks them, he suffers. And I intend to make him suffer dearly!"

Then, he sat down next to the fire and looked at them expectantly.

"What are you waiting for? Tell me what I missed! And by the way, Belgarath, Polgara: Your prayers were just excellent! Don't worry so much while making them up, I am used to much cruder compositions..."

* * *

Okay, here we go! Only one chapter tonight, as it is already dawning... and I am tired... next update soon! 

Comments appreciated!


	20. Chapter 20

Okay, guys, Chapter 20 coming up! Hope you like! 

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for details.

Current Music: None, got a slight headache...

Disclaimer: I do not own any of David Eddings' worlds and characters, and I do not intend to make money off this fic.

CHAPTER 20

It took a good part of the night filling Dorgatan in on what exactly had happened: why the innkeeper in Lenda had killed his mortal coil, what Zoltach's dominating snake had told them, and how they had decided to follow the general direction of the original energy flow instead of being fooled by those hundreds of branches it was flowing in now.

Finally, when they had ended, Aphrael asked Dorgatan: "What is it like to lose an incarnation by murder, cousin? All my incarnations died from old age or never got discarded, so I wouldn't know."

The Messenger-God, who had appeared like a boy to his mortal companions until he was forced out of this vessel and appeared as a handsome young man now, looked at her, a grave expression on his face.

"It is like having all of your extremities ripped out. Imagine the pain, imagine it ten times as strong, then imagine having it in your head instead of the severed joints."

Aphrael blanched a little and did not bring up the topic anymore. Dorgatan, obviously, had already forgotten about her asking, and now addressed Belgarath and Pogara, his voice curious.

"Very well, you told me that the minion of Zoltach mentioned the name 'Ctuchik', before our sneaky friend obliterated it. Please tell me, who exactly is this man?"

Polgara's face darkened with Anger. "Ctuchik is a Grolim. He was one of the disciples of the Dragon God Torak in our world, and he accidentally obliterated himself when he tried to tell our Master's Orb, a most potent treasure, to 'be not'. That must have been his doorway into this world. He is a most devious man – my father and I competed with him in elaborate games of 'hide-and-seek' for the better part of two millenia. It seems that he is up to the same thing again – with a different master and a different board to play the game on."

Dorgatan pondered on this in silence for a while; finally, when he talked again, it was more to himself than to anyone else, as he tried to conclude from the facts he had been given.

"So we have a steady stream of energy from another realm traveling to a certain point further northeast. We know that Zoltach initiated it, and that a man from this realm he is tapping, Ctuchik, is aiding him... it makes no sense! Yes, the amount of energy he could collect would be vast, but it would most likely not be enough to break out of his prison... or would it?"

Silence fell on the group for a few minutes, while everyone eagerly awaited Dorgatan's next words. Finally, the Messenger-God repeated himself, louder this time.

"OR WOULD IT?"

He jumped up, a hint of triumph in his eyes.

"Belgarath, Polgara, if I remember right, you told us that your Will and Word are almost as strong as the powers of the Younger Gods. Have you ever experienced your sorcery to grow weaker when a lot of sorcerers exist in a small area all at once?"

The disciples of Aldur shook their heads, which caused Dorgatan to flash them a quick smile.

"I believe I finally have a theory of what is going on with both our worlds."

He sat down, his smile vanishing from his face again. "Now, I am sorry, but you probably won't like my hypothesis. Let us start at the beginning: Ctuchik must have found an idol of Zoltach after he arrived here, and, instead of bringing him worshippers, like Otha did with Azash, he offered a different, more subtle approach. He must have told Zoltach how unbelievably strong your sorcery is, and the Elder God concluded the same things I am concluding now: First, that the magical constant in your realm must be multiple times higher than the one here, and second, that he had a being from this realm at his hands to guide him to it."

He stopped there, but, when he saw the wide-eyed looks of many of his listeners, he hastened to explain:

"The magical constant is set by the natural laws of the individual realms. They must be slightly different in Belgarath's and Polgara's world to allow for such a high amount of magical energy to be present. And Ctuchik resonated with that magical energy, as he was a sorcerer back in this world, as well. Zoltach could use that to find a way into this realm and began collecting energy. He can only try one thing..."

He waited to see whether any of his companions had gotten his point by now, but it didn't seem that way – the knights appeared baffled, while Aphrael and the two sorcerers seemed to be lost in thought about his elaborations.

Finally, he gave up. "Aphrael, you know how worlds come to be here – the Maker Spirits form them. However, I do not believe this is true for their realm. I think that there, the Gods themselves formed the world they come from, and their power is hidden in every stone, every plant, every animal and every human. Those vast amounts of energy, more than a thousand times stronger than the energy of our world, constantly renew themselves, and the Gods can live off the world – other than here, where we are dependant on prayers and adoration by worshippers. Their Gods are like farmers, and they farm energy off their creation! And Zoltach tries to capture those powers now, and bind them."

Now, understanding began to dawn in Aphrael's bright eyes. "You think...", she began.

"Yes," Dorgatan took over again. "I think that Zoltach is trying to coalesce all that is their world into a solid object... say, a gemstone?"

That brought forth collective gasps from the knights – they all remembered the Blue Rose well. Sparhawk, after the initial shock, managed to ask:

"Would the thing that is captured resemble Bhelliom?"

Dorgatan thought about it. "No, I don't believe so. Keep in mind that, although the energy of our world is not nearly as strong as that of theirs, Bhelliom has created millions of worlds out there." He pointed up to the sky. "This stone will be less powerful than the Blue Rose – but it will be powerful enough to break Zoltach out of his prison, and powerful enough for him to do for the thousand Younger Gods, the Elene God and all the other deities out there. Remember: Belgarath and Polgara can both do nearly as much as Aphrael and I can – and they are but two of the nearly hundred known sorcerers of their world, which doesn't even account for the magical potential found in normal people, and in the environment. We also can't know whether he will be able to capture the Gods of this world – if he can, he will be able to do anything he pleases with the stone.

"Keep in mind: This stone might not be quite as powerful as the World Maker, but it has one advantage over Bhelliom for its user – it does not have a will, nor does it distinguish between good and bad. Bhelliom knew how to play its game, and it wouldn't work for everybody. This stone will not deny service to Zoltach, neither will it be difficult to use or impossible to touch. That is what makes it even more dangerous than the Sapphire Rose."

"Then Aldur was right," Belgarath spoke up. "This matter is of the utmost importance. If Zoltach takes as much energy as possible from our realm, our world will die, because everything will fall apart without the Breath of the Gods being present."

Dorgatan nodded gravely, his tanned face almost as pale as those of the knights sitting around the fire.

"And if we don't stop him, and Zoltach creates his talisman, he will have enough power to convert our world over to his worship with magic and sword. He will achieve what Azash dreamt of – ruling as the one and only God over all things living. He will be the only one, because destroying all of our family will be the very first thing he is going to do. And trust me: You don't want to be ruled by the Snake God."

* * *

So THAT is what Zoltach is up to! ;-) Next chapter coming soon – please review! 


	21. Chapter 21

Heya Guys and Gals! Here I am again, with a new chapter for you! 

05.09.2005: Amswers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for reason.

DISCLAIMER: The Belgariad, Malloreon, Elenium and Tamuli are owned by David and Leigh Eddings and their respective publishers. I do not own any part of it, and do not intend to make money off their creation.

Current Music: James Darren – "This One's From The Heart" (I had the sudden desire to listen to lounge music, and the Man is the very best! Vic Fontaine rules!)

CHAPTER 21

After Dorgatan had rejoined the travelling group of Church Knights, Styrics and sorcerers, nothing significant had happened for nearly three weeks. By now they had already passed Venne and were on their way to Paler.

During the last few days, Prince Sparhawk had become increasingly quiet; when somebody tried to talk to him, he either did not answer, or snapped that he was thinking about something and did not appreciate to be disturbed.

Finally, Aphrael could not stand his attitude anymore; she had been riding in front of him on Tieran today, and now turned around to face him.

"What is wrong, Sparhawk?", she demanded to know. "And don't tell me that you don't want to be disturbed – obviously you can't find the answer to your problem alone. Why don't you tell me what you are thinking about? Maybe I know the answer you are looking for."

Sparhawk bit back a sharp remark that waited to escape his lips and replied instead: "Maybe you are right, I should have asked you. I am sorry. I have been thinking about the confrontation with Zoltach. What if the situation calls for Anakha? I have given up the powers Bhelliom bestowed on me, and Bhelliom itself is gone. How can I confront a God now, if that is what I have to do?"

He had expected all kinds of reactions from the Child Goddess, but the one she chose startled him: She was chuckling softly.

"Oh Sparhawk... That is all you are worried about? That is why you wouldn't talk to anybody for days?"

"I thought it was enough of a reason to worry," he answered testily.

Aphrael laughed again.

"Good old Sparhawk... worried about things that don't matter. You are Anakha, and there is no way you ever won't be Anakha anymore. You were born because Bhelliom wanted it, and you stay his creation until you are no more. Yes, you are right, Bhelliom is not here anymore – but the link between you and the World Maker still exists. You refused to keep the power it gave you, but nobody said you could never possess it again. Call upon Bhelliom with your mind, explain the situation to it, and ask whether it could bestow the power on you once more, as its daughter, the world, faces yet another peril. I am sure it will help you."

Sparhawk stared at her incredulously. "That is all I have to do?"

Aphrael nodded, but then shook her head. "It might take you a while to convince Bhelliom to restore your power – it might not understand the situation right away, and claim that its power is not needed to resolve the situation. But I am sure that you can convince it in the end."

The father of her newest incarnation sighed.

"I should have known – nothing is ever easy where you and the Blue Rose are concerned. I will wait for now, and think up some good reasons why Bhelliom should return the power to me, and I shall talk to it when I feel I have enough arguments to convince it."

* * *

Meanwhile, Zoltach had not been idle, although he had not sought open confrontation for a few weeks. In fact, the Elder God and his priest Ctuchik had been working on a special surprise for their enemies. 

After long series of incantations and rituals, they had managed to break the Trollish spell that needed to be broken for their newest scheme to work. The screams that had filled Ctuchik's abandoned lighthouse for the better part of two weeks had finally died down, as the Grolim and his God administered different, healing spells to the figure they were working on.

It was done. Ctuchik, who had been severely punished by his God – the punishment had consisted of a full week of neverending agony – sincerely hoped that the person they had saved from the wrath of the Troll Gods would be able to tip the scales in their favor. They had to stop Anakha, the two Younger Gods and the sorcerers from getting here, come what may!

When he had heard of the man's accomplishments – he had managed to nearly plunge the whole world into chaos, just to get what he secretly desired for over 300 years – he had been rather impressed. Of course, he had done much better back when he had been the disciple of Torak, but the man's story was impressive nevertheless.

"So, tell me, Zalasta – how are you planning to stop them?"

The old Styric who sat opposite him still reeked of the eternal flame Khwaj, the Troll God of Fire, had put to him, and his skin bore disfiguring scars, but his eyes' stare was as cold as a Thalesian glacier.

He had been the one who had started riots all over Daresia, in hopes that Sparhawk would come to the aid of the Emperor of Tamul, so that he would have ample opportunity to dispose of him and the Child Goddess Aphrael, so that he might finally own his beloved Sephrenia for himself. His plans had been foiled by Sparhawk and the Bhelliom, who managed to destroy his new God Cyrgon, and Khwaj had punished him with burning him in an eternal, non-consuming fire. Zoltach had located him and managed to put the Troll God's flame out. Healing then had only been a matter of the proper spells. Now nothing but ugly scars reminded of the Styric magician's fate.

Zalasta cleared his throat and began to speak, still with a voice reminding Ctuchik of a person that had spent too long in the smoke of a burning house:

"I shall gather the renegades that didn't die in the demise of Zemoch and Cyrgon. Together, we should be able to stop them. After all, Sparhawk does not have the Bhelliom anymore, and the creatures we shall rise will be too strong to be banished or killed by a simple spell. And the Younger Gods cannot use the Words that could hurt them in the presence of humans – it surely would kill their friends in a heartbeat..."

Cthuchik's lips parted in a grin, a grin that the disfigured Styric joined in shortly afterwards.

"Trust me, Ctuchik, my friend – the demons we will rise shall bring you their hearts on a silver platter. And then, Zoltach's plan will succeed, and all of us shall have our vengeance on this world, and the other one!"

* * *

Oh-oh, they are up to something again! Hope you liked! Please review! 


	22. Chapter 22

Hello friends!

Yeah, I know, it's been a couple of days since my last update, but it is getting warm and humid here (damn Midwest weather!), and I have simply been too lazy... Thankfully, Memorial Day will be soon, and after that, the public pools will be open again!

... And, I have to admit, I haven't felt very inspired the last couple of days. Hopefully, though, I can write up something good now!

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See reason in chapter 3.

Current Music: None, don't feel like it.

DISCLAIMER: All characters aside from the original ones mentioned in numerous chapters aren't mine, they're property of David Eddings and his wife. I do not make a profit out of this fic.

CHAPTER 22

It was two days before they would reach Paler when the group happened upon an unusual phenomenon. It was bright, forming a glowing circle in midair, and all of them stood in awe while something insubstantial manifested right in front of it just to be sucked into the swirling colors that formed it the very instant it appeared.

The phenomenon was located in a small grove off the road, where they had decided to camp for the night.

The first of the mortals who understood what the glowing circle was, was Bevier.

"Is that... one of the other focus points Dorgatan was talking about? The ones Zoltach created to confuse us?"

Dorgatan nodded, his black locks falling over his shoulders as he did so.

"What you see appearing in front of it just before it gets sucked in is the returning energy. We shouldn't get too close, otherwise we might end up in Belgarath's and Polgara's world, and the doorway might be a one-way passage."

Then, he realized the full implication of what he had just said. He turned to the two disciples of Aldur, his charges while they were in this world.

"Belgarath, Polgara, this is your opportunity to go back to your world. We will take care of Zoltach and Ctuchik, if you want to go..."

But both sorcerers shook their heads, and Polgara added:

"We won't leave now. Both of our worlds are at stake, and we know Ctuchik a lot better than you do. It is our battle as well as it is yours. You can send us back when we have stopped the threat."

"If we will be able to," Dorgatan insisted. "I have never had to work with interdimensional portals..."

When everybody stared at him, not understanding, he hastily rephrased: "... with doors between worlds, and I don't think Aphrael has, either. We don't know what will happen if we manage to get rid of Zoltach – without him focussing on the energy flow at all times, it might all just snap back where it came from, and you might be stuck here..."

The faces of Aldur's disciples took on nearly identical grim expressions.

"Then stuck here we will be," Belgarath replied. "We have to ensure that our worlds will be safe again – both this one and the other, as we serve Gods in both worlds. We cannot leave while possibly the biggest threat on our world since Torak is trying to destroy it. Our choice is made – we will stay."

Dorgatan nodded; he had known that his friends would not run away from the challenge.

"Very well, Belgarath, Polgara – I warned you. I have to admit that I am glad you decided to stay. It would not have been like you to leave us with this situation – especially since your world is not out of peril yet, either. Let us sleep for the night so we make good time tomorrow. I want to reach Paler as soon as possible, because I have a feeling one of us will have to learn something there, before we can move on..."

* * *

Meanwhile, Zalasta sat in a musty-smelling inn in Aka, a port town at the east side of the the Gulf of Merjuk, and negotiated with a group of Styrics in ragged clothes about their help against Sparhawk and his travelling companions. 

One of them, an incredibly filthy fellow named Tjardak, asked in a voice that seemed to come out of a very deep hole:

"And what do we get out of it if we help you and Zoltach? We heard what happened to Ogerajin and the others during the disaster with Cyrgon."

"Ah, but my friend, this time, everything will be in control," Zalasta answered, his voice by now back to the cultivated tone it had had before the Fire had come to him. "Zoltach will reward each of you with your own kingdom and anything else you might wish for, should you join in the efforts to further his cause."

Tjardak laughed, an ugly cackling that screeched in Zalasta's ears like fingernails on a chalkboard.

"Everything will be in control, huh, Zalasta? Just like everything was in control when you and Cyrgon called upon Klael, and when the Shining Ones melted down your bastard son and the demon summoner you had with you? Thank you, but I think I'll pass."

The ugly Styric got up and was about to leave the dirty tavern when his body suddenly stiffened, and he fell, his feet still reaching into the inn while his head was already outside. He didn't move anymore.

Zalasta looked into the faces around him – they had gone from a condescending sneer to emotionless masks. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"I believe I did not mention what Zoltach does to people who vex him... he just did it to old Tjardak, because he was implying that Zoltach is as stupid as Cyrgon was. You would do well not to follow his example. Now, where was I...?"

Suddenly, a lot of the Renegades found themselves eager to work with Zalasta. Whether they did it because they did not want to end up like Tjardak, or whether they really believed him that Zoltach had planned his scheme better than Cyrgon, Zalasta didn't know, but he also did not really care about their reasons. The most important thing was that they agreed to work with him.

He and Cthuchik would make these dirty, ragged men and women, each one of them a menace by himself, into an army of demonic power, ready to take on Sparhawk and his group by summoning the ultimate darkness to their aid. He himself would rip the Pandion's thoat out, shower the knight's companions with his blood just before the creatures summoned by his fellow renegades did the same to them... and thus, his revenge would be complete.

* * *

I know, this one's not so great... forgive me. Will do better next time! Comments appreciated! 


	23. Chapter 23

Hello again! Decided to write another chapter, as the last one was a bit short and I would like to get into the habit of writing again (After nothing but proofing and writing RPG mails the last week)... 

**Chapter revised – thank you for pointing out to me that Mirtai and Kring are already married – don't know why I forgot that!**

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for details.

DISCLAIMER: Worlds and characters are property of David Eddings and his publishers, and I do not intend to make money with this fic.

CHAPTER 23

Two days later, in the early afternoon, the group finally made it to Paler. Ulath, Tynian and Belgarath had already left the group to find a suitable inn for the night, and Polgara and Dorgatan had made for the market to restock their supplies. The remainder of the companions were left to their own devices.

Bevier had ridden through the city, not quite sure what he was supposed to do until supper. His warhorse, as white as his overcoat, whinnied impatiently when it had to stop time and again because the roads were so crowded. The Cyrinic Knight silently reprimanded himself for not leaving him somewhere before he set out to take a look around Paler. He pulled his cloak tighter around him – it was significantly colder here than down south in his native Arcium, which he rarely left anymore, now that he had been elected preceptor of the Cyrinics.

Then, he realized into what district his aimless wandering had taken him, and he forced his horse to push through the crowd faster – the buildings framing the narrow street were brothels, whorehouses! A district of sin and moral decay!

Of course, he had no choice but to deal with people the likes of which lived here time and again – after all, he was a Church Knight, not some monk who could afford to lock himself up in his monastery, never chancing to meet sin incarnate out here, where the real world was. Bevier himself had once yearned for a simple life in a monastery, where his soul would not be tempted – until he had realized how much he would have lost by choosing such a life, as well. And now, he was responsible for 25,000 Arcian Knights.

Life could certainly be worse.

And deep within himself, he could not help but admit that the things described by the Holy Mother Church as sinful were... somewhat interesting. And so many people engaged in them – how could they be bad?

Engaged in these thoughts, feeling slightly guilty, he did not realize that he had left the dangerous district and was headed towards the market place in the middle of town now. His thoughts were interrupted violently, though, when he thought he heard the following words right next to him, spoken by a high-pitched, nasal female voice:

"And you are sure this will be enough to take care of Mirtai?"

Bevier brought his horse to a stop, looking around as though he was searching for somebody while he was listening intently on what would follow this comment about the Atana. He did not like the tone the question had been uttered in.

And, sure enough, the answer proved his gut instinct right.

"She may be an Atan, but that dose would take care of an elephant! I promise you, she will die from it."

Ugly laughter from the other woman.

"The sisters of Domi Kring will like that. They want to get rid of this monstrosity their brother married. Here is your money."

And that was all he could overhear, because an angry male voice sounded behind him:

"Friend Church Knight, you are in the way of the merchants. Would you please keep moving? Some of our wagons are still waiting in front of the city, that's how long the line behind you and your horse is!"

Bevier did not bother to answer, but rode on down the street. Suddenly, he could not wait to talk to somebody about what he had overheard.

Meanwhile, Sephrenia, Vanion and Aphrael had been wandering over the market place, idly looking at the various items for sale. They did not have to worry about resupplying – Polgara had promised she would see to it, and Aphrael knew she could trust the sorceress to buy some mutton and enough vegetables to feed the Styric fraction of their group while the Elenes ate ham.

Overall, Polgara was a very good cook – unlike the two longer expeditions she and Sephrenia had been on with the knights, this time they did not just get almost burned mutton and bland stew, but all kinds of culinary creations they had not even known one could prepare over a campfire. Aphrael considered herself lucky that she was a Goddess and could shrug off any weight gain without a problem; especially Sephrenia seemed to start filling out her robes more and more, although Vanion, as well, had gained weight.

Thus were her thoughts when she saw Bevier fighting his way through the crowd to get to their side of the marketplace. Seeing that it would take him quite some time to make it through without hurting anyone, she decided to take action, herself.

"Sister, I will be with Bevier for a while. We'll meet at the inn for supper."

Not even waiting for an answer, she winked out of existence, leaving only air on the shoulders of Sephrenia's palfrey, where she had sat in front of her sister's saddle.

Bevier flinched visibly when the Child Goddess suddenly appeared on the back of his horse, causing Aphrael to grin up at him.

"Oh, Bevier, do stop that. You will blow my cover! Nobody has seen me appear – in fact, everybody believes that I was with you the whole time. You flinching, though, does not seem altogether normal, and people might start talking about you... Now, what is so important that you almost ride through the crowd, no matter what? Tell me, maybe I can be of help."

Bevier's facial expression seemed to be caught somewhere between anger and immense amusement at her little speech. He now forced it back into a serious expression and told her what he had learned from the two women he had passed. Aphrael frowned when he had finished.

"Usually, it is considered bad form among the Peloi to kill a woman who has to take care of a small child – their time to plot and poison comes directly after the wedding, when there are no attachments and the damage can be repaid to the grieving husband with horses. Kring should be notified of this. I will take care of it, Bevier, don't worry about it anymore. Now let us try to get to the inn in time for supper."

Bevier looked down at her in amazement. "But suppertime is still two hours off!"

"And that is most likely how long it will take us to get through this crowd, Bevier."

* * *

After a good supper, most members of the group took a bath and turned in for the night. Not so Ulath, Tynian, and, surprisingly, Dorgatan – the three of them decided to check out the local taverns. That left Bevier alone in his room. He undressed until he was clad in nothing more than a short pair of underpants, then he knelt down at the side of his bed for his evening prayer. 

"Dear Lord Our God, I thank Thee for Thy holy ear..."

"But Bevier, no need to be so formal!"

Bevier's head snapped up out of his praying pose, and his eyes fell upon Aphrael sitting on his bed, a radiant smile on her face. Then he realized that he was almost naked, and his tanned face flushed brilliantly red.

That got Aphrael to laugh at him.

"Oh my poor Bevier – don't worry, you're decent enough. Besides: You don't have anything I haven't seen before. If you wish, I can appear to you naked, as well, to make us even... no? Very well. I wanted to tell you that I had a long talk with Domi Kring. He had promised to take care of his sisters plotting against Mirtai."

Bevier managed to sound business-like when he replied with a question.

"Will he have them murdered?"

The Child Goddess shook her head.

"No. He has sent out messengers to ask his mother to marry off all remaining sisters, who have the most interest in seeing Mirtai dead. All their servants will be let go, as well, and new ones from trusted families will be hired. And Mirtai's food will be tested again before she eats it – of course without her knowing it. Kring thinks it's best if she doesn't know anything about all this – she might decide to rid herself of all of the Domi's sisters by more direct means, and that would make her an outcast in Peloi society."

Bevier nodded in appreciation.

"So nobody will die, and everything will work out fine anyway, or have I misunderstood you?"

Aphrael nodded, as well.

"You're right – everything will be fine, thanks to you. Good job, Sir Knight!"

And with a small laugh, she vanished again, but not without taking the opportunity to make Bevier blush once more. Had he just seen a beautiful naked woman on his bed in Flute's stead, just before she vanished...?

* * *

There we go, a new chapter! I like it much better than the last, and I hope you will, too! Seven more to go... 

Comments appreciated!


	24. Chapter 24

Hello guys! 

Yup, I am back, with a new chapter for you!

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. Reasons in chapter 3.

Current Music: Anime- and Game-OSTs, again... Today's specials: "Kizudarake no Tsubasa" (Violinist of Hamelin), "Inner Universe" (Ghost in the Shell – Stand Alone Complex) and "Radical Dreamers" (Chrono Cross)!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own David Eddings' worlds and characters, and I do not intend to make a profit off this fic.

CHAPTER 24

Three days after the incident in Paler, of which no one but Aphrael and Bevier knew, the two Younger Gods and their friends had crossed the border to Zemoch. It had been cold in the mountains, and the landscape had been changing from rolling green hills to bleak, cold and ragged-looking rock formations with only the occasional weed growing in the cracks between the stones.

By now, they had passed Vileta. First, they had planned to spend a night in the run-down town, but the suspicious and partly greedy looks of the Zemoch patrons of the only inn had quickly ensured that some members of the party refused to stay there – especially since the place seemed to be fairly pest-ridden and, of course, overpriced.

So, it had been tents for the group again. Polgara had muttered some rather impatient remarks about going into a fight without a bath, but, considering the alternative of a Zemoch bathtub, she had to admit grudgingly that trying to find a small stream to wash up in was the better choice.

While they were continuing their trek into northeastern direction, Dorgatan's face exuded excitement and unrest.

"We are getting closer," the Styric Messenger God said, his face serious. "I can feel another focus point coming up, and something tells me that this time, it will be the real one. I wonder why Zoltach has not tried to stop us any more since the incident near Alaris... He won't have abandoned his ambitious plan to make a run for it because Sparhawk is coming, that much is certain. But what is he planning? It must be something elaborate, otherwise he would not have allowed that much time for it. I cannot say that I enjoy this prospect."

Aphrael nodded sternly at her relative's comment.

"The danger is greater than ever, now that we are that close to Zoltach and his hideout. He has to be somewhere in this area, if he hasn't found a way to hide in the Sea of Zemoch. I wish there was a way to prepare for whatever he is going to throw at us, but as we don't know what he is up to, the old saying of keeping one's eyes peeled applies. Let's hope that his plan does not work out as well as he probably thinks it will."

Polgara and Belgarath exchanged a look at the two Gods' talk. Of course. Even if Zoltach was as dumb as this Cyrgon the others had told them about, Ctuchik certainly was not. And he knew they were coming. So, Aphrael's and Dorgatan's worries were not to be taken lightly. Even Zandail whinnied nervously; the stallion could feel the sense of tension within them, as well.

Thus, the whole group moved rather warily through the rough terrain which would gradually flatten out toward the coast, an eye out for any potential traps...

* * *

Zalasta grinned when he heard his personal nemesis Aphrael and the unstandable airhead Dorgatan advising caution to their so-called 'friends'. He of all people knew that the Gods, neither the Younger nor the Elder variety, NEVER truly made mortal friends. They used men as pieces on their private chess board, for they considered themselves too elated to truly bond with mortals. He had seen it in Aphrael, when she had taken over Sephrenia's life to reign in it ever since, for more than 300 years. But now, his arrangement with Zoltach would make her suffer. First, he would kill Sephrenia and her pet Elene Vanion, then, when Zoltach had drained this special world they had told him about of all its magical energy, he would obliterate Aphrael himself – slowly and painfully. The Elder God had promised him that on top of all the other benefits for his services. 

Behind him, the other renegade Styrics who he had brought out here sported similarly nasty grins. Most of them were not in the business of killing people and orchestrating riots for the money – they liked inflicting pain, and in this case they would be rewarded all the more, the more pain they caused. They were twelve in all, a dozen of the mightiest magicians you could buy with money and power. Among them were Amargath, Deraltra and Woruth, the much-feared Triplets of Doom, as the average Styric knew them. They had acquired this nickname by obliterating whole Styric villages alone, with natural catastrophes and summoned creatures from the Elder Dark. If one had a quarrel with one of the Younger Gods, one sent out the Triplets to destroy his worshippers until the God faded away. They had been the ones to lead the campaign against Aphrael's worshippers – the only known time they had failed in an assignment. They had been unable to react when the other Younger Gods gave her some of their worshippers to keep her alive... But the three women made a nice addition to this particular team of Elene pest control. The remainder of the group was male, formed from the most experienced summoners and necromancers Zalasta had been able to find. Together, they would kill those humans once and for all.

He was the first to spot them in the distance; they came riding out of a crevasse between two small mountains, moving closer and closer towards the small rock formations in the plain that would eventually lead them to the lighthouse Ctuchik and the spirit of Zoltach now occupied, if they continued in this direction.

"Get ready. They won't have much to throw against our creatures. Hit them with all you got, fast and hard. If you see that they can't fight back, torture them – but if you feel resistance, kill them. The reward for suffering sounds nice, but trust me, those people have something up their sleeve to often to toy with them for too long..."

The sound of the horses' hooves came closer and closer. The renegade Styrics awaited them silently, hidden behind large stones to keep the element of surprise on their side. Zoltach's power shielded them from being spotted by the Gods or Sephrenia before they decided to show themselves. With a little luck, their adversaries would never know what hit them.

Finally, the moment had come: The horses had all stepped in the path between the large boulders, and the group of Styrics surrounded them. Upon a barked command of Zalasta, they unleashed their magic. Sephrenia's eyes widened as she caught sight of her friend of old, who had turned into her deadliest enemy because of the love she had for her Goddess, as the effects of his spell sizzled towards her in a lightning from the dark-clouded sky, a flash of an unnatural greenish color. Now she would feel his revenge...

* * *

Cliffhanger! Sorry guys, but I'll let you hang out to dry for a while... ah, no, the next update will come soon, and until then you will survive for sure ;-) 

Until then: Comments, as usual, are appreciated!


	25. Chapter 25

Hello guys! 

I can't stay away from writing! Wanted to let you sit with the cliffie a while longer (meanie that I am), but I have to continue writing ;-)

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for reason.

After I am done with this fic, I might write another multi-chapter fic for the Eddings section, after that I'll have to see where to go on... I have this Star-Trek-Story scraping at the back of my mind, and there are a bunch of other things I'd like to write about, too, so most likely, you'll have to search for new stories of mine somewhere else until I read the Belgariad and Malloreon again (After all those stories about Elenium and Tamuli, I'd like to work with the characters of the other cycle a little more)...

Current Music: X Japan – Various Albums (Now Playing: "Crucify my Love" – hmmmmmmmm!)

DISCLAIMER: All but plot and original characters belongs to David Eddings. I do not intend to make money off this fic.

CHAPTER 25

Before the searing energy could reach the startled Styric woman, Aphrael lifted an arm, and the lightning bounced off an invisible wall not two hands' width above Sephrenia's head. Furious, the Goddess began to weave her own spell, the sound of her pipes a menacing staccato.

At the same time, the rest of the group saw themselves confronted with a whole army of unspeakable creatures. The stench of their enemies, their empty eyes, oversized teeth and impossible body parts made them flinch back. There were so many of them...

Then, the two parties clashed into each other. The mighty broad swords of the Church Knights, however, were not able to do more than to keep the monsters at bay. The small gashes they managed to inflict on the demons spurted some black fluid that hissed when it touched the ground. They seemed to genuinely hurt the creatures, but that was all – it seemed impossible to do more but scrape them, and that would not suffice to get rid of them. In short, they were caught in a stalemate.

Sephrenia, who had paled at the sight of Zalasta, stammered: "But... how is that possible? The Troll Gods set you on fire, to burn for all eternity! How is it that you..."

Zalasta laughed; an ugly sound, teetering on the edge of insanity.

"That I am free of the Flame now? Somebody mightier than those pathetic brutes extinguished Khwaj's fire. I serve him now, and my service is dealing death to all of you! How convenient that my goals are the same as his for the moment, don't you think, Sephrenia dear?"

Then, he leveled a stare at Vanion. "I see you brought your pet, as well. He shall watch you die before we take care of him."

While the two parties stared at each other, Khalad, who had been busy with his crossbow while the others were wielding swords and axes, silently armed the weapon with a bolt, hoping that his friends would keep distracting the Styrics from paying attention to him.

Hewas not disappointed. Aphrael, who had her own special bone to pick with the old Styric, screeched and unleashed her magic, a fireball which would spell death for Zalasta.

The renegade, however, lifted his hand, and one of the dark creatures stepped in the way of the spell. The compact energy exploded at the demon's exoskeleton – and did next to no damage.

There seemed to be no way the group could survive this encounter.

But then, a crossbow bolt whirred through the air, striking one of the Triplets of Doom in the throat. Gurgling, the ugly old woman fell to the ground and breathed her last – and some of the demons suddenly appeared rather disoriented. They sniffed the air, whined and vanished – undoubtedly to go where they had come from. Khalad, who was in the process of reloading his weapon, shouted as loud as he could to be heard over the cries of rage from the Styrics and the hissing and spitting of their now advancing creatures.

"Attack the humans! The demons are controlled by them – they will flee if not held here by their will!"

The knights did not question the squire's advice. Three more Styrics fell under Khalad's bolts and Ulath's hatchets, which he had hastily dug out of his saddlebags. Then, the remaining men and women grasped each other's hands, starting to chant in unison. A greenish glow developed around them, and the air began to shimmer, like it would on a hot summer day on top of a hill.

Sephrenia blanched. "They are weaving the 'Thousand Demon's Night'-Spell! This is the end..."

Aphrael's face had gone pale as well, but her expression was grim. "Not quite yet, sister. We Younger Gods cannot do anything against those demons – it is prohibited, and it would most likely kill all of you, as well. But there is still one thing we can do."

She turned toward Sparhawk.

"You have to talk to Bhelliom, Sparhawk. Ask it to give back the powers you once possessed. It's our last chance."

Meanwhile, something started to manifest in the shimmering air, red eyes glowing in shadows which would turn into demonic fiends any minute now...

Sparhawk drew a deep breath, casting his thoughts out toward the spirit who had willed him into existence, half of him already wanting to despair. He did not know where Bhelliom was by now – how was he going to contact him?

_Bhelliom, Your son Anakha has need of your attention!_

For an infinitely short amount of time which seemed like eternity to the Elene, there was no answer.

Then the familiar, booming voice of the World Maker resounded in his head.

_What is it that you want, my son?_

Sparhawk hastened to explain the situation to the spirit, concluding with the words:

_I know I have rejected the powers bestowed onto me by thee, father, but I have dire need of them, lest my group be defeated._

Silence. Then, Bhelliom answered, his voice carrying a strange sadness.

_I cannot do what you ask, Anakha. You were given the power, rejecting it. I cannot change thy state at any of thy whims, even if it should mean thy life._

But Sparhawk wasn't about to accept this answer.

_It does not only concern mine life, Maker of Worlds. Thy daughter's existence is at stake!_

That got the spirit's attention.

_How is that, my son? Tell me, and do not attempt to lie to me._

Sparhawk, noticing that time seemed to have stopped around him, told him about Zoltach and the danger he posed not only to this world, but to that of another realm, as well, careful not to leave anything out. When he had finished, there was another period of silence.

Finally, reluctantly, Bhelliom's voice sounded again.

_I feel you have spoken the truth, Anakha. Very well. I will bestow the power unto thee again. You shall keep it until the Snake God is no more. However, know that this is the last time I shall bestow this power onto thee. Afterwards, I shall converse with the spirits of the other side, to decide how to keep this incident from happening again. Go forth now, and fight the enemies of my daughter._

Then, Sparhawk felt a surge of power flowing into him, dizzying him with its force. He had become Anakha once more.

Time had started to run again; the shadows the Styrics summoned manifested in front of them, screeching in unearthly malice.

Anakha's voice rose, chanting in a tongue that was neither any human language nor the idiom of the Gods, but the tongue of the World Makers. Outstretched hands began to glow, spreading fire among the demons who howled and vanished, burned to ashes, obliterating the darkness which was about to spawn more creatures.

That was when most Styrics broke the chain they had built with their hands, trying to scramble for safety. But there was no safe place from Anakha and his rage. The fire reached the fleeing people and disposed of them in a similar way. Minutes later, the mighty demon force designed to kill them all was gone. Only Zalasta was left, staring at Sparhawk in disbelief.

"But... how is that possible? You don't have Bhelliom anymore!", the Styric blurted out.

Anakha gave him a grim smile.

"Foolish man. The spirit who created me is never far from me, no matter where it is."

Then, he turned toward Sephrenia, Vanion and Aphrael.

"I feel it is your place to dispose of him, Sephrenia of Ylara. The last time, the Gods tried to punish him, and failed to keep him safe. Please, go ahead."

Sephrenia nodded, a smile on her face which could only be described as wicked. She nodded towards Aphrael and Vanion, who had similar facial expressions, then her gaze came to rest on Zalasta.

"Zalasta, know that this is your last hour," she intoned, voice cold and steady. The man started to shiver and beg when he recognized the ancient ritual.

"Your crimes have been grave. Thus, we banish you forever out of this world. Your body shall be obliterated, your spirit cast into shadows, for this realm does not wish to suffer you anymore."

Then, she began to sing in what the knights supposed was ancient Styric, accompanied by Flute's pipes. As her voice rose, a red aura enclosed the stammering Renegade, and his skin began to bubble like hot wax. Zalasta screamed as the air around him grew hotter and hotter, until a true inferno, hotter even than the Fire of Khwaj, enclosed him.

Finally, his body exploded with a wet noise; the remnants of him crumbled to dust, which was scattered in all directions by a sudden breeze. It was over – Zalasta was gone forever.

Sephrenia slumped in her saddle, sweat pearling on her forehead. Vanion hurried to stabilize her, lest she fall off Ch'iel's back. Aphrael nodded sternly towards Sparhawk/Anakha, as the group rode on down the path in silence.

* * *

Zoltach wailed in anguish as he felt Zalasta being destroyed. The plan he had developed for so long had failed! And he was still restrained in his prison. What could he possibly do against Anakha foiling his scheme? 

His never-sleeping eyes fell upon his servant. Ctuchik had not really been a worthy priest. Even now, he was blathering something about everything being alright. As if Zoltach would believe him if he repeated it often enough – foolishness!

Then, a thought struck him. He would be stronger, if he was out of his dimensional prison. Of course, he could not simply break free – but he could channel himself into his servant! It was like trading his prison for a different one, not like emerging from the darkness he had been cast into. The Younger Gods would not realize it!

Ctuchik's body stiffened as his God took over his body, erasing the personality of the Grolim out of the brain. Then, fingers flexed and brows met above the deep-set eyes. There was still a lot to do until the knights reached the lighthouse, and the focus point. He would see to it that they received a worthy welcome!

* * *

There you go, chapter 25! 

Comments appreciated!


	26. Chapter 26

Hello again! 

And here I am with chapter 26 for you guys... we're getting closer to the end! Am so happy that so many people reviewed the last chapter, thanks guys!

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for details.

Current Music: Inchtabokatables – "Too Loud". Great German/English Industrial-Folk-Sound! Best Song: "You Chained Me Up". AND the new Nightwish-Single "Nemo"... yeah! And soon, the new album is out, and in August, I'm finally gonna see them in concert... yay for me!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any part of David Eddings' worlds and characters, and I do not make a profit off this fic.

CHAPTER 26

Two days after Zalasta's demise, seagulls brought with them the salty air of the Sea of Zemoch. Dark clouds covered up the bright blue autumn sky, yet the stony plateau on which they were moving towards the northwestern-most corner of the Eosian continent – the place where their enemy was already waiting for them. Tension forced the group into silence,and they were scanningthe area with all their senses for another unpleasant surprise from the Elder God they would soon face.

Little did they know that Zoltach had indeed readied his refuge for their arrival; magical barriers radiated as far as a league from the lighthouse ruin he resided in, carefully concealed so that nobody would feel them in advance – they would stun the two Younger Gods and, at the same time, make sure that their human friends couldn't help him. Once the mortals were caught safely in the spider's web of magical energy, Zoltach would rip open the barriers between the worlds, forcing all energy out of the other realm, just like a mortal forces the last drop of juice out of a lemon – and then, he would finally reach his goals of getting rid of the other Gods and ruling this world as The God.

Zoltach's gleeful cackle resounded in the round chamber, enclosed by dark, damp stone. They would pay for opposing him – everybody would! Upon touching the barrier, they would meet their greatest fears, and when they succumbed to them, he would be able to feed on their souls, making him only stronger. No mercy, no forgiveness...

* * *

"We are almost there. The energy converges a little more than a league directly in front of us," Dorgatan informed Belgarath quietly as they rode along the stony path. 

The old sorcerer's bushy brows met above his nose in a frown.

"I can't believe he doesn't send out any other forces against us, if we're already that close... something isn't right here."

Sir Ulath, who had heard what Belgarath had said, shrugged. He seemed to be the least nervous person of the whole group.

"Maybe he is like Azash – he doesn't really believe that anybody can oppose him. Or maybe he just ran out of followers and mercenaries."

Dorgatan shook his head.

"Zoltach is not nearly as self-absorbed as Azash, which is why I can't believe we have not seen any more opposition since Anakha disposed of the renegades. And Zoltach does not run out of followers that easily – he would send his personal creatures against us, and those are to Zalasta's demons what wolves are to puppies. No, Ulath, he plans something, and he will use it here very soon..."

He did not have a chance to elaborate any further; suddenly, both he and Zandail stiffened and ceased to move. Aphrael, as well, stared ahead from atop Sephrenia's palfrey unseeingly. And before any of them, even Sparhawk, could react, blackness enclosed each one of them individually, severing their line of sight, bearing down on them...

... Bevier opened his eyes. The plateau of Vileta was gone. In its stead, he beheld the interior of the Basilica of Chyrellos in all its splendor. In front of him, Archprelate Dolmant sat on his throne, his face serious. Was it true? Was the archprelate truly God's speaker? Was he dead, and would ascend to heaven for a life of devotion to the Elene faith? There, Sarathi finally started to speak. Surely he would... what? No! There had to be a mistake!

"Sir Bevier, I hereby strip you of your position as preceptor of the Cyrinic Knights, and excommunicate you from Our Holy Mother Church, in whose name you have committed the most atrocious sins. The Arcian King will take the royal titles and all belongings away from your family to repay your countless victims. Leave now. The moment you set foot out of Chyrellos, you will be hunted down and killed as a common criminal, so if you want to keep your hide, leave for Daresia as fast as possible. Now go. Do not defile this holy building with your presence anymore."

And the patriarchs turned away from Bevier, their faces distorted with disgust, while the former Cyrinic could not fully stifle a sob filled with confusion and frustration...

... Tynian opened his eyes, wishing the merciful unconsciousness had lasted longer. He felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into the quicksand bog he was standing in. The safe ground was too far away to grasp, even if he still had the ability to move his arms. The heavy Alcione armor forced his body into the sand faster and faster, the sand filling his mouth already, working itself up to the nostrils...

... When Ulath's eyes snapped open, he knew at once that he was running for his life. He had been out in the woods of Thalesia, alone – what foolishness had made him forget the simplest safety precautions, he did not know. Movement in the thickets in front of him told him that he had lost the race. He was surrounded.

As he had expected, a large Troll sow and her two young stepped into his way. Behind him, the mate came to a halt by anchoring his large hands to two young firs. He started talking in Troll, trying to talk his way out of the desolate situation, when he felt a grip of steel around his knee. It was over.

The large Troll male ripped his left leg out of its hip socket. The pain was unbearable. Ulath screamed while gnawing sounds indicated that the trollish feast had begun, with him as main course...

... Khalad woke from brief unconsciousness, to be filled with terror at the sight he had to accept as the truth: He was lying on the ground, not far from the farm house near Demos he used to live in before he had gone to serve Sir Sparhawk. The house was gone; in its place, smoke rose from a smoldering ruin. They had come at night – plunderers always do. They had stolen everything, torched the fields. But that had not been enough for the men; instead of leaving the family poor, yet unharmed, they had raped and killed the women, simply beaten the boys (because that was what they were, just boys) to death, and gone their way. Khalad had tried to stop them, but he had been only one man, only one man...

... Vanion woke up in the past. He relived the journey of the Church Knights to Daresia. Everything went just fine... until Zalasta's bastard son Scarpa kidnapped Queen Ehlana out of the castle in Matherion. Confused and desperate, Sparhawk surrendered the Bhelliom to Zalasta, hoping that the stone would smite him, but that did not happen. Zalasta learned how to use the Bhelliom, and his first action as the mightiest man on this world, naturally, was to obtain Sephrenia, the prize he had sought ever since he was but a child in a muddy village called Ylara. Bhelliom's magic then turned Vanion into a living marble statue – stiff, cold, unable to cry out his rage and anguish as he stood in the bedroom of Zalasta's palace at Sarsos, having to watch again and again how the woman who had once loved him bestowed her favor upon one who forced her to do so by means of magic...

... Sephrenia heard jeering and mocking laughter when she opened her eyes. She had been brought back to the familiar market place of Sarsos. A magical barrier kept her from moving more than a few steps into any direction, but it did not take her long to figure out what was happening. The current representative of The Thousand let his voice rise over the general noise:

"Vanion the Elene, who has lived among us here in Sarsos for a short time, has been found guilty of heinous crimes. As he is of the Elene race, he shall be punished in an Elene manner: He shall be ripped apart by four wild horses, who shall be attached to his extremities. Should he still be alive after this procedure, he will be stoned to death. Proceed."

Loud applause drowned out Sephrenias screams, her question what kind of crimes her husband had committed. Then, a ripping, breaking noise sounded from the center of the market place, and the Styric woman forced herself to keep from vomiting...

... Polgara had finally arrived in the Vale again, after a long journey of hardship and danger. How good it was to be home! She would finally meet Durnik, her husband, and the twin boys again! Her feet carried her over the grassy Algarian plain, to the east, toward her cottage at the border of the Vale of Aldur. But then, she stopped dead in her movements, stunned to see what had happened to her homestead while she had been away.

The house was overgrown with vines. No birds sang close to it, no deer grazed nearby. And in front of the house, Beltira and Belkira stood, their heads bowed, clearly in mourning. When Polgara stepped closer, Beltira was the first to notice her.

"Child, welcome home... we are so sorry... they contracted one of the most virulent forms of plague, and they did not know how to heal it. When we had found out about it, it was already too late..."

Belgarath's daughter stared at them, not understanding what her uncles were saying. "Where is Durnik? Where are my boys? Where..." Then, it came to her, the knowledge of what had happened, and she fell to her knees and began to weep...

... Belgarath, the big grey wolf, and his mate Poledra ran through the lush green woods of their world, hunting for food, and for the joy of hunting. Their long strides perfectly matched as they bounded along side by side. How nice it would be to catch a rabbit, or a deer, and share it with the woman he loved.

Suddenly, his sharp ears picked up the rough sound of breathing not far behind them – and it came closer quickly. Irrational fear grew in him, and he struggled to run along even faster than he already was. His mate looked at him, tongue lolling out in laughter – didn't she hear that something big was on their trail, came closer and closer?

But then, it was already too late. An Eldrak broke out of the trees behind them, his big club bearing down on Poledra, who realized the danger too late. The heavy blunt weapon cracked her skull, smashed her bones, pounded her into the ground. The Eldrak had killed her.

Belgarath changed back into human shape, rage burning within him. He drew in energy from his surroundings, ready to tell the monster to "be not"...

... Sparhawk, rejoicing in the fact that he had finally found the Bhelliom, strode into the throne room of the castle in Cimmura, to finally free his Queen out of the crystal in which she was encased. Sephrenia, pale and sickly-looking, stumbled along behind him, held up by a pair of Pandions. Each of the other people who had originally enclosed her had died – Sephrenia was the only one left. Just a few more doors... a few more steps.

The party finally arrived at the large double doors in front of the throne room, and Sparhawk opened the door, just to hear the last rattling breath of life escaping Sephrenia's mouth. He saw the crystal vanish, heard the heartbeat of his beloved Queen become irregular... he started running, maybe it was not yet too late... But it was. Halfway through the large room, he heard the beating of her heart, magically amplified, cease. His Queen had died, his quest had been for nothing, and Annias would soon rule the Elene Church...

"No!"

Sparhawk looked around, into faces startled by the one word he had uttered softly. He smiled at them, shook his head.

"A very nice show, Zoltach. But I know for a fact that my wife is safely at home. I don't buy it. Now, you might as well stop trying to deceive us, because whether you like it or not, I am coming for you!"

The throne room, his friends, reality itself seemed to splinter into thousands of shards around him. He found himself back at the plateau in northern Zemoch, confused stares directed at him and each other by the other members of the group. Not a few of these faces showed the dried and slightly puffed-up traces of tears.

Anakha smiled at his travelling companions.

"A barrier of illusion. Had we all succumbed to it, Zoltach would have won. But the barrier is broken, the way is free. Let us face the Snake God now, so that we may destroy him."

He pointed to the northwest, where a ruin of black granite stood on the cliffs towering over the Sea of Zemoch. They had finally reached their goal.

* * *

Here one giant chapter for you – sorry it took me so long to write it! Hope you enjoy, comments appreciated! Not much left to write... 3 more chapters, and we're done here! 


	27. Chapter 27

Hello guys! 

Here I am again with another chapter! Getting closer and closer to the end...

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for details.

Current Music: Mixed J-Pop, among others Abe Asami, Nakagawa Akinori and Yaida Hitomi

DISCLAIMER: Worlds and characters used are sole property of David Eddings and his publishers. I do not make and do not intend to make profit off this fic.

CHAPTER 27

Zoltach howled like a wounded animal when the unexpected shattering of the magical barrier backlashed at him. In his prison of flesh, even the Elder God had to succumb to the force that hit him. Instead of following through with his plans to bring down the border between the worlds, he fell to the ground, writhing in agony...

* * *

Meanwhile, the group had finally arrived at the foot of the large granite ruin which had once been a lighthouse. All of them had recovered from the traumatizing pictures the barrier had shown them – all but Belgarath. For some reason, the old sorcerer stared straight ahead, face haggard and gray. Whatever Zoltach's construct had shown him, it seemed to have hit the innermost core of his being. Dorgatan and Polgara noticed and rode over to him, trying to find out what was wrong.

It took some persuasion to get the old man to talk, but finally, the dam broke. Belgarath still looked straight ahead, when the words started to tumble out of his mouth.

"I lost her again. She died, and I couldn't help her... I was ready to tell the... thing who killed her to be not... I can't live without her, not again, not after thousands of years without her..."

The words lost themselves in mumbling after this, and Polgara saw, astounded and disturbed, how tears streamed down her father's face. Had she ever seen him cry? If so, she couldn't remember. He had vented sadness and grief in bursts of rage, had raved to the point of lunacy or carried himself with stoicism, but cry? Ancient Belgarath?

Polgara leaned over and embraced her father, not quite knowing what to say.

"There, there... She is fine, father, she is at home waiting for you, just like Durnik and my boys are waiting for me... you will see, everything will be alright..."

Thus, she comforted both him and herself, until Belgarath angrily rubbed at his face and straightened in his saddle.

"Thank you Pol. I am sorry I behaved like this, especially in a situation like this. Let us go in and finish it!"

* * *

It did not take long for the Gods, the Styrics, the Church Knights and the Disciples to climb the stairs up to the room in which the focus point – and Zoltach – were waiting for them. When they entered the large hall with its glowing pool of light in the middle, the Snake God had recovered from the blow Dorgatan and Aphrael knew had been dealt to him when Sparhawk had broken down his final line of defense.

A hideous grin spread over the face that had once belonged to Ctuchik when Zoltach greeted them in a mocking, hissing voice that sent chills down their spines.

"Welcome, Mortals and... well, I guess we have to call you 'Gods' now," he sneered.

If Aphrael and Dorgatan were offended, they didn't show it. Aphrael, in fact, smiled back at the emaciated figure the Elder God had chosen as his vessel and said over her shoulder:

"Anakha, why don't you teach Zoltach some manners? He's been screaming for it ever since he started his little scheme."

Zoltach feigned outrage – an astounding feat with the old Grolim's visage.

"Oh, but don't you want to know what I am going to do with the two worlds, once I disposed of you?"

Dorgatan stifled a yawn.

"Old news, Zoltach – we figured your little plan out weeks ago. What's up with you? You lost your touch, old boy; your plans were never this clumsy a couple of hundred eons ago..."

The Elder God howled in rage, lifted his arms – and suddenly, his body exploded with a loud "thwap". Polgara grinned into the round.

"He who sits in the glass-house shouldn't throw stones – or, dare I say 'He, who sits in the flesh-house should not taunt people who know Death Spells?"

Dorgatan didn't laugh, but looked at her with a grim expression.

"You only rid him of his prison. Now he is..."

"NOW I AM FREE, THANKS TO THE FOOLISH MORTAL! YOUR DEATH IS AT HAND!"

The voice roared down on them from above. They looked up to the partly broken-down ceiling; a huge cloud of sickly-green fog was accumulating, manifesting there. Lightning crackled through it in short, bright blasts. In a few seconds, Zoltach would unleash his full power onto them...

An aura of the darkest royal blue suddenly surrounded Sparhawk. He lifted his arms toward the gathering green mist that would mean their destruction, and shouted three words, in a voice booming so loudly that nobody could understand what he was saying.

A shrill screech of pain emanated from the amorphous body of the Elder God. Sparhawk – no, Anakha! – looked up at it mercilessly for a moment, then his voice rose over the wailing of the Snake God, shouting in Troll.

"KHWAJ! GOD OF FIRE! ZOLTACH DARED TO PUT OUT WHAT YE MEANT TO BURN FOREVER! COME AND PUNISH HIM, SO HE MAY NOT EVER THWART THY WILL – NOR MINE - AGAIN!"

He did not have to wait long for a response. Not only Khwaj appeared in the suddenly tiny seeming room, no, he brought the other five Troll Gods along with him!

"ZOLTACH WILL NOT PUT OUT KHWAJ'S FLAME AGAIN, KHWAJ WILL SEE TO THAT!" the huge Troll growled, and jumped up to meet Zoltach. The other Troll Gods followed suit, plunged into the green cloud, whose shrieking grew louder every minute. They somehow were able to grab the fog, pull on it, spread it out thinly, until a small red light appeared at its center. Anakha grabbed his mighty broad sword with both hands, jumped up, and forced the blade into the gleaming redness.

The sound of Zoltach's demise was unlike any other sound Belgarath and Polgara had ever heard in their long lives. A strange tearing sound, each second sounding like an explosion, frequency falling until they did not hear the sound, but felt it in their stomachs...

And then, it was gone. Zoltach was defeated. Sparhawk slumped to the floor, left by the immeasurable powers of the Bhelliom. The Troll Gods had left, as well. Silence filled the room, and the low hum of the focus point.

* * *

Here is Chapter 27 – and Zoltach is done for! What I will do the next three chapters? Well, Belgarath and Polgara have to get back into their world, and both groups have to get home... Cameos by some "Belgariad"-Characters included! Comments appreciated! 


	28. Chapter 28

Hello guys! 

Here chapter 28 for you – sorry it takes so long, but it always takes some time now to work up the creative energy to work on „Stranded"– But the end is near!

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for details.

Current Music: Janne Da Arc – "Ueta Taiyou". Only one song? YES! I can't get through my day without listening to it at least 5 times since I found it! Check it out!

DISCLAIMER: Worlds and characters belong to David Eddings. I do not make money with this fic.

CHAPTER 28

The silence lasted for a good five minutes; nobody dared to speak, as if they were unsure what would happen if the quiet was pierced by words. Then, finally, a groan came from the floor: Sparhawk had awakened from his short bout of unconsciousness and looked around. Ulath and Tynian helped him get up. Belgarath finally managed to turn his gaze away from the humming focus point, where the energy of their world glimmered brightly in a circular area on the floor. He turned around to Aphrael and Dorgatan.

"Can we just step into... that and go home?" he asked.

Dorgatan did not answer immediately, but went over to the gleaming circle, held his hand into it and closed his eyes. Thus, he stood there for a while, without saying anything, without moving. Then, his hand pulled back, his eyes opened.

"I am afraid not", he finally replied. "Zoltach's destruction did not stop the energy flow; it is still being channeled to this very room. Furthermore, what you see in front of you is the real focus point, not one of the fakes which granted the energy passage to the world it came from."

He exchanged a look with Aphrael.

"I don't suppose you know about interdimensional travel, and the relative position of your world in the multiverse?"

The blank stare he got for an answer got him to shake his head.

"I guess not. Well, we have a little problem here. Aphrael and I can't reverse the energy flow it we cannot determine the destination – and while we feel it coming into our realm from yours, we cannot pinpoint the relative position of it by simply tracing it back to its origin, because we can't permeate the barrier between the different universes. The Elder Gods can, to a certain degree, but we Younger Gods never quite managed – that is why Zoltach could use Cthuchik's body, the certain spin of the molecules he was made of, to pinpoint the relative location of his world, while the two of us alone don't have enough power to do so. It has something to do with a thing called Uncertainty Principle – we need to temporarily shut off a law of nature to do what we need to do."

He looked at Aphrael.

"Well, cousin, are you up for a family meeting?"

The Child Goddess sighed.

"Not really, but do we have any choice? We need to work together to send back the energy and reseal the barrier. Let us do this."

She grasped Dorgatan's hand and began to sing. Her voice was unlike anything Belgarath and Polgara had ever heard before – part clear child's soprano, part sweet breath through a wooden flute, sometimes both, sometimes neither, but something inexplicable, yet beautiful. Then, Dorgatan joined in with a strong tenor. The air around them began to glimmer like a mirage, and slowly, row after row after row of people began to appear around them, until it seemed that they could never all fit into this room. Yet they kept coming, kept appearing, until the whole pantheon of Younger Gods had appeared, stunning the mortals with their mere presence.

Aphrael began to speak with them in the tongue which encompassed all of the human languages, but yet none of them quite understood. It did not take her long to explain to her family what it was they had to do. Finally, silence fell again. And then...

A choir of beatific voices began to resound from the dark walls, soft, caressing the ear at first. The voices wove an image of the two worlds and everything in them, gradually increasing in volume until finally, the mortals among them thought they would go deaf, and yet thought to themselves that it was worth it, if this vast song was the last thing they would remember hearing henceforth. But at the point where the sheer force of the song threatened to become unbearable, the voices fell to a hum, a steady background noise which repeated the notes of the song over and over again.

The focus point had changed color. From icy blue, it had turned into a deep lavender. Dorgatan and Aphrael stopped singing, stepped over to their mortal friends, most of which smiled, yet had tears in their eyes.

"It is done," Aphrael said to Belgarath and Polgara. "The worlds are completely separated again, each alone with its own energy. This gateway is all that is left. Say your goodbyes now, for we will not see each other again."

The two disciples of Aldur nodded solemnly and turned towards their friends of many weeks, with whom they had been through many dangers and trials.

Polgara hugged Sephrenia and Vanion, shook everybody else's hand and then turned towards Sir Ulath.

"So, Ulath, whose turn is it to cook today?" she asked with a grin.

Ulath grinned right back at her. "Well, I guess it is mine – if the Younger Gods don't consent to keep the gateway open until you sent us rations from the other side, that is."

Meanwhile, Belgarath taked to Dorgatan.

"Son... well, I shouldn't call you that, I guess, you're most likely older than me, aren't you?... Anyway, please tell Galtan our thanks for letting us use his horses when you return to your village. And please tell Makor that he will still be missed in our world, even though I will rest easier now that I know that he is fine, after all. And there is one other thing... would you consider doing me a favor? Find out if another former disciple of Aldur named Sambar still lives, and help them reforge their friendship. It would set my mind at rest."

The young, handsome Styric Messenger God smiled at the old sorcerer.

"Consider it done, my friend. We have much to thank you for, and that will be a good way to repay you."

He looked over to the portal.

"You should go now. We will have to close the gate up soon, otherwise the part of the barrier we mended will rip open again."

A few moments later, Belgarath and Polgara stood in front of the gate. Dark blue, unfelt flames licked at their ankles. They gave the remainder of the group a last wave before they stepped into the circle – and fell, spinning, turning upside down, the last sound in their ears before every sensation ceased to be the chorus of the song of the Younger Gods...

* * *

There we go! Two more chapters, where everyone gets home! Please review! 


	29. Chapter 29

Hello guys! 

Yup, this time, it didn't take a week – I have some time on my hands and thought "well, why don't you write some more?"And here it is!

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed - see chapter 3 for details.

Current Music: None, don't feel like it.

DISCLAIMER: Worlds and characters are property of David Eddings. I do not claim them as mine and only use them for non-commercial purposes.

CHAPTER 29

It took the better part of two months for the Church Knights, the Styrics and the two Younger Gods to get back to Cimmura, where they had started from. Nobody quite knew why Dorgatan had opted to stay with them, now that his charges had gone back to their own world. He seemed content to stick with them and talk to Aphrael when the Child Goddess was bored – who were they to ask him about it?

Finally, the castle, the highest point of the city, began appearing behind a hilltop. Khalad sniffed the air, then nodded with part disgust, part approval.

"It's Cimmura, alright – no other city smells like this!"

Sparhawk, who had recovered from having been Anakha again by now, smiled.

"Smells like home to me."

After passing the gate and riding through the masses of people moving about Cimmura, they finally reached the castle. Obviously, one of the guards had alerted Queen Ehlana to the return of her husband; they were barely out of the stables where they had brought the horses when the young queen came walking across the courtyard, a delighted smile on her face. Behind them, some more of their friends followed: Mirtai and Kring, Talen, Kalten and Alean.

Ehlana flung herself into Sparhawk's arms, covering his face with kisses.

"Welcome home, Sparhawk!"

Sparhawk looked down into her face; her eyes were glowing, her cheeks flushed. He knew she would bombard him with questions later, but right now, she was happy to have her husband back – just as happy as he was to be home. And had he heard an unspoken promise in her voice...?

He did not have time to ponder on it, because now Kalten had reached the group.

"Welcome back, old friend! I came by to show off our firstborn, just to learn that you had gone off on an adventure again. Couldn't you have waited a few weeks with that? I wouldn't have minded getting around with all of you again..."

Alean's gaze could have melted stone.

"Ride off and leave me alone with the boy? Kalten, you have a responsibility..."

Kalten embraced his wife. "Just kidding, my dear. I wouldn't give my time with you and Degan for anything in the world."

Just then, a small yelp of pain escaped Talen. Obviously, the young man had tried to pick a pocket – "just for old times' sake", as he would hasten to reply if found out. Unfortunately for him, the pocket he had tried to steal from had been Dorgatan's. A small mousetrap now sat on his fingertips, which already began to swell. Khalad laughed.

"Wrong pocket, Talen – you don't steal from Gods."

Talen's eyes narrowed when he looked at Aphrael, then at Dorgatan.

"Family, I gather?"

Aphrael nodded, grinning at him.

"Naturally. And not only that – he is to be the new Patron God of the Alciones."

Tynian, who had been in conversation with Bevier, turned around at that.

"How did that come to be?" he asked with interest.

"Well," Dorgatan began, "I had long talk with Setras one or two years ago. He told me that, while he adores working with you Alcione knights, he would like to, I quote 'take a little time-out for concentrating more on his art'."

Tynian raised an eyebrow at that.

"So you're only filling in for him until he is done with his 'time-out'?"

Dorgatan nodded.

"Yes. But you should know that for us, a 'little time-out' can last centuries. I believe Setras just has enough of the responsibility – he never was a big fan of that, although it sort of comes with Godhood... well, anyway, when you leave, I will be coming with you to speak to your preceptor back in Deira."

Meanwhile, one of Alean's handmaidens had arrived with the child on her arm. The baby boy paid no attention to his surroundings – he was fast asleep. He woke up, however, when the woman turned him over to his mother. His eyes, blue as the sky, opened, and he began talking to his mother in typical baby-pidgin. Alean cooed right back: What a good baby he was, how beautiful a boy he was, and so it went on.

Sephrenia and Vanion stood nearby, watching the young mother.

"You know, my love," Vanion sighed with a smile, "I begin to regret that I was never able to have children of my own. I have been married to the Mother Church for too long. And now, I fear it is too late to think about it anymore."

Sephrenia gazed up at him, her smile radiant as it had never been. That was all it took for the former Pandion preceptor to understand her, without her ever saying a word.

"I thought Polgara's cooking... but you are..."

His wife nodded, which he took for a reason to sweep her up in his arms.

Domi Kring of the Peloi had been waiting for a chance to talk to Bevier. When Tynian was occupied with talking to Dorgatan, he saw his chance, walked over and said under his breath:

"Thank you for sending Aphrael to warn us, Sir Knight. We managed to catch somebody poisoning Mirtai's food and took appropriate action to make sure it doesn't happen again. Please, Sir Knight, don't tell my wife about this – she would start killing people if she knew what some of my people have been up to again, and I would like to avoid further bloodshed. We are indebted to you for what you have done."

Bevier smiled down at the bendy-legged leader of the western Peloi.

"Mirtai won't hear a word from me, I promise – and: Don't mention it, I am glad I could help."

Further conversations were ended abruptly when a servant called out to them.

"Dinner is served, your Majesty, your Highness, Sirs and Ladies..."

Thus, the group entered the castle, happy that another dangerous adventure had come to a good end – and eager to gorge themselves on masses of well- prepared food. Aphrael had vanished, to reunite herself with the mortal shell of Princess Danae – but in all the talking and laughing, nobody had taken notice.

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One more chapter left! As a lot of people missed Kalten and Talen, here at least some small glimpses at them! Okay, this crowd is back home... now for Belgarath and Polgara returning to their loved ones. Comments appreciated! 


	30. Chapter 30

Hi people! 

Here we are now – the final chapter of "Stranded" – it has been an enjoyable ride for me, and I hope for you, as well!

05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See reason in chapter 3.

General Note: I know, I promised some of you another story with Berit as the main character, but right now I'm a little burnt-out in case of Eddings, and I don't want to write something that does not work out as an extension of Eddings' world. I will, however, keep the idea in mind and write it once I read the books again, which should not take too long!

Current Music: Nightwish – "Once" (Oh my God, they did it again! Perfect new album – Congratulations!)

DISCLAIMER: Yes, in this last chapter, as well, I will state that none of it is mine but property of David Eddings, and that I do not intend to make money off of this.

CHAPTER 30

"Any news yet?"

They had come to expect the question at the door of the house where, just a few months ago, Durnik, Polgara and their children had shared a peaceful life together. Now, one half of the couple had gone missing, along with her father, and Durnik was desperate. At first, he had thought nothing of it when his wife didn't come home in the evening – maybe Aldur had given her an urgent assignment which she had to tend to immediately. But after a week of hearing nothing of her whereabouts – and, more importantly, of Beltira and Belkira trying to contact Belgarath or Polgara, who had apparently vanished at the same time, without success – he had known that it was nothing so harmless, and alerted his friends, hoping that, with their help, he would find out where his wife had disappeared to.

Some of them had sent out their men to scour the countryside for the two missing sorcerers, some of them had taken on the task on their own – again, without finding so much as a hair off their heads.

Now, they had been gathered at the cottage at the rim of the Vale of Aldur for a week, devising new search strategies. Silk and Velvet had just returned, and had to face Durnik's question again. It hurt to disappoint the frantic hope in the man's face over and over again...

Kheldar shook his head as he stepped over the threshold.

"I am sorry, Durnik – still no trace of them."

The Sendarian and the two Drasnians went into the living room, where Garion (without Ce'Nedra, who had decided to stay home and look after their children in the meantime), Poledra and Barak were already waiting for them.

"Well," began Liselle, "we have received word from Yarblek, Hettar, Sadi and Urgit – they have not been seen in Cthol Murgos, Gar og Nadrak, Nyissa or Algaria. No news from Zakath yet, but we don't believe they will show up there – after all, they have to get there first, and although they might be in their animal forms and nobody would recognize them, we figure they would still have to show up here and there in their natural forms. Aside from that: Nobody can tell me they would leave for the other side of the world without telling anybody, and without answering the twins' call."

"One and one's kind would recognize them," Poledra objected. "One's kind has not seen one's mate or one's daughter."

"... Which brings us right back where we started", added the Rivan King sourly. He looked at Durnik.

"Say, have you been in contact with Eriond, Aldur or UL? Shouldn't they be able to tell us where Belgarath and Polgara are?"

Durnik shook his head.

"I have been practically begging for one of them to talk to me, but so far nothing has happened. Maybe they're busy elsewhere."

He looked out of the window, seeing that it had begun to darken outside.

"And where are the boys again, it is almost time for supper..."

Barak put one huge, hairy hand on the forlorn man's shoulder.

"Let them be, Durnik. If staying out past curfew makes them feel a little better, you should let them. After all, it is hard on them, as well... trust me in this, my friend. They will come within the next hour. Let them be happy until they return here and see all the friends of their parents being just as frustrated as they feel."

Durnik nodded; in the fast fading light from outside, he looked tired, older than he ever had.

"Well, let us have supper then," he decided. "The boys can have what we leave for them. I won't get cross with them, but I will not start to spoil them. Pol wouldn't want that."

They sat down and started eating the thick stew Durnik had prepared for them. Most of the time, nobody said a word. Garion, who had known the blacksmith longer than any of his other friends, realized with a pang of sadness that his friend was starting to lose his hopes of ever finding his wife.

He had just finished his bowl when laughter sounded outside – the boys were coming home. Durnik envied them for the lightness of their hearts; they could still laugh, although they knew that their mother had vanished nearly three months ago...

They heard the door open, and the steps of the twins on the wooden floor. But then – more than two pairs of feet had entered the dwelling. Who could it be? Beltira and Belkira hadn't announced a visit...

A woman's voice, softly speaking to Makor and Sambar in the hallway...

Durnik jumped up and left the room, his sorrow erased by a sudden, wild spring of hope in his heart. And yes, there she was, his Polgara, talking to their children, then looking up, smiling at him.

A few more steps, and then she was in his arms – he finally had her back!

Neither Polgara nor Durnik, locked in a tight embrace, noticed their friends coming out of the living room, noticed Belgarath entering the house and smiling at them, before he cleared his throat and said in a voice rough with emotion:

"We're home."

He walked over to Poledra, feeling irrationally relieved that she was here, after all.

"Grandfather, where have you been all this time?" Garion finally asked when his speechless relief had subsided enough for him to form words again.

Belgarath sighed.

"That, my boy, is a long story – and one that I will tell you gladly, after I have had a bite to eat. Is that stew I smell...?"

And thus, the reunified family retired back into the living room. The search had ended for all of them, those lost and those remaining in their own world.

While the story was told, night crept over the horizon, encircling the house in velvety blackness, warm and comforting as a blanket now that they were together again.

THE END

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The End... -sniffles a little- Again, I hope you enjoyed this story! Comments are still appreciated, as usual! And be good! ;-) 

05.09.2005: Since I had to edit all chapters to take out the review answers, I also took the time to eliminate all typos and some of the more embarrassing sentence constructions I could find. Consider this story revised ;-)


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